Bright Like the Sun
by dryler
Summary: Edward/Bella - WIP, AU, AH, OOC. When Bella goes to live with her father in Forks, things go much better than she expected. At least until a slick parking lot, a careening van, a broken arm, and her weird lab partner from biology get in the way...
1. New Town, New School

**A/N:** Beta'd by 13cellardoors and vindictive87 over at lj.

**New Town, New School**

I have never in my life been somewhere so gray. It's like when you adjust the colour from "vivid" to "movie" on the TV, and all of a sudden the colour just goes off somewhere to die, leaving behind some faded grayish mockery of a colour in its place. It's depressing. I've been in Forks for less than twenty minutes and I _already_ feel depressed.

"What was that?"

"What?" I ask, without turning away from the window.

"You made a noise. I thought maybe you wanted to say something."

"I didn't make a noise," I respond, and cringe at how argumentative it comes out. Long-distance travel puts me in a bad mood, makes me restless. I haven't travelled here since I was fourteen, and I haven't seen my dad since the week he came to Phoenix when I was fifteen. I really don't want his first impression of seventeen-year-old Bella to be that I'm a petulant sulker. Although I wouldn't say those words never apply to me, I'd like to, but I'd be lying.

"Yeah, you made kind of a grunt noise."

Yeah, that's not embarrassing at all. "I was just thinking... is it always this gray?"

That just kind of popped out. Obviously I know it is, but I think my brain is hoping I'm remembering it wrong.

He turns and gives me a look that clearly says _you know you've been here before, right? _

I smile awkwardly in response, and give a half shrug.

"Sometimes we get some sun. Not often, but sometimes," He says in a reassuring tone. I think he's worried that I'm going to change my mind about living here. For a second I think of reminding him that I didn't actually chose to come here, that I didn't really have a choice, but I don't think that would make him feel better.

"Is that even healthy?"

"It's fine," he says with a brief glance at me. "You'll have to take vitamin D supplements, but you'll never have to wear sun block," he quips awkwardly. He looks over at me again, and I give him a smile I hope conveys amusement. It wasn't really funny, but I appreciate the effort. Judging by the huge smile that breaks out across his face before he turns back to the road, I'm a better actress then I thought. Maybe I should join the drama club, get involved in some extracurricular activities. Yeah, that's gonna happen.

After that we settle back into silence, but it's not awkward like it was before. It's more comfortable. Maybe, like me, he feels that brief little moment amounts to some proof that we can agreeably co-exist, maybe even get along while we live together, or maybe I'm the only one that feels the difference. Either way it makes the world outside the passenger-side window seem a little less dreary, a very little bit.

00000

Wandering the halls of my new school for the first time seems to be doing a lot to really drive home my wish that Jacob went here. It'd be nice to have someone I know around. Even if I only spent time with him one month a year until I was fourteen, he's still familiar.

The last time I started at a new school, it was the beginning of the year, and my first year in high school. Everybody my age was new to it, still adjusting to the building, classes, teachers, and just as nervous as me. This time? School started two months ago, and I'm guessing most of the people have been here since grade nine. They probably all went to elementary school together too.

From what I've seen of the building so far, I'd hazard a guess that there's been at least three additions added, haphazardly at that. There are all these weird dead end hallways, and the different additions seem to have seriously messed up the numbering of the doors. I just passed two doors right next to each other numbered 103 and 122. The next door was 110. The fact that my new school doesn't seem to understand the order of numbers isn't particularly encouraging, although I might actually do well in math here, I can come up with random numbers too.

What's X if y=23? 50. Why the hell not?

I stop in the middle of some kind of outdoor hallway in an attempt to get my bearings. On the wall there's a sign that says cafeteria that points to the left, and another one that says Auditorium which points to the right, but nothing to indicate where the administration offices might be. That's some lovely planning they've done there.

They should have maps. Of course if they had maps they'd probably be kept in the office, so that wouldn't really help me much.

I decide to just start walking forward and see if that'll take me anywhere. A few steps later someone sidles up beside me.

"You must be Isabella," he states, giving me a smile that's a little too excited for a Monday morning, if you ask me.

"Bella," I correct with a smile I'm sure comes out as more of a grimace as I pull one of my ear buds out. I hate it when people call me that.

"I'm Eric." He stares at me expectantly, like his name is supposed to have preceded him all the way to Arizona. Eric the way-too-happy-for-a-Monday.

I stare at him blankly for a couple moments, before he starts looking a little unsure.

"Didn't they tell you I was going to show you around?"

"They who?"

"The people at the office?"

"I haven't gotten there yet," I mutter, a little embarrassed. I got here half an hour early per their request, and I've spent ten of those minutes ambling around trying to find this damned office. I hate asking people for directions. My mom was right; I would have made a good boy.

"Oh..." he says with a thoughtful pause, and then hides a smile by looking down at the floor. When he looks up again the smile is gone, but there's still a glint of amusement lurking in his eyes. "You're going the wrong way."

Either that's what's funny, or the smile came with his decision to mess with me. I look back the way I came dubiously, hoping to see some kind of sign either way. The last thing I need is to be known as gullible. I don't have the gags-and- tricks kind of sense of humour.

"The door to the office is over by the parking lot... you probably passed it on your way in."

Damn it.

"Huh," I mutter noncommittally. This is not a good start.

00000

Turns out it wasn't a trick. I had actually passed the administration offices on my way into the school. Clearly I'm a genius. Eric was good about it though. He walked me to the office, and waited to show me to my class. When I left History he was standing across the hall to take me to English. Clearly this guy takes his responsibilities very seriously.

At lunch he basically cornered me into sitting at his table, and his friends seemed equally excited to have me there. What the hell is wrong with these people?

Okay maybe that's a little harsh, but my old school was not like this. I mean people were nice enough, but I never really made much of an effort, and they mostly just left me alone. I really didn't have a problem with that, preferred it most of the time, but it seems to have left me completely unprepared to deal with overtly friendly people. I don't know how to respond to this kind of attention. Seriously I feel like they're expecting something from me that I'm not sure I have, namely well developed social skills.

His friend Mike walked with us to Bio since he has the same class, and he invited me to go with them to a movie in Port Angeles this weekend. I said I'd think about it.

As I'm walking into Biology, the teacher standing at the front points out where I'm supposed to sit. It's the bench table in the back corner on the wall side of the room. There's a boy already sitting on the stool next to the wall, but he's so far into the shadows I can't make anything out. Taking the aisle seat I notice the small amount of muted natural light coming through the windows peters out about four feet from me, like it wasn't strong enough to make it just a couple more feet.

Pulling my stuff out of my bag, I glance at him sideways. He's pale, really pale, but cute. He doesn't really acknowledge my presence, but I'm not exactly falling over myself to say hi, so I'm not really in a position to be offended.

00000

Stifling another yawn against my hand, I look up at the clock above the door hopefully. Still half an hour left. My hand is starting to hurt from copying down so many overheads, and the dark, stuffy room is making me wish I was at home, back in the bedroom that's some kind of museum of the summers of my childhood.

I look down at my notes, trying to figure out where I left off writing so I can catch up before he changes the overhead again, when the room gets brighter. I look out the window to see the sun edging its way out from behind the clouds. The sunlight makes its way rapidly across the room, and I can just barely feel a brush of warmth on my cheek as it touches my face.

Suddenly the chair next to me scrapes across the linoleum, clattering to the floor, and the guy who was sitting next to me jostles my shoulder as he rushes out of the room. I watch him leave in surprise, and then turn to look at the stool lying on the floor. His binder's still on the table, open to the page he's been filling with his scrawling handwriting, and his backpack's slumped against the underside of the table.

I figure the guy must've had to go to the bathroom pretty badly to make such a scene out of it, and try to catch up on my notes while the teacher tries to get back the attention of the class after the interruption.

It isn't until the bell rings that I realize that guy didn't come back to class, but nobody seems particularly surprised, so maybe that's just the kinda guy he is. I don't like him already.

00000

When I pull into the driveway, I notice Jacob sitting on the porch steps. Getting out of my car, I give him a tired smile, and hitch my bag over my shoulder.

"So how was your first day?" He asks as I walk towards him.

"Long." I flop down on the narrow steps next to him, our arms brushing as I drop my bag on the walk in front of me.

"Well, it was a Monday, that is one of the longer days of the week. And of course just before class ends on Friday is the longest hour," he says with a smirk.

I laugh lightly, resting my head against the wooden railing. "See, that's normal. I seem to have been socially adopted by a bunch of... happy people."

"Now that's a tragedy."

"It is! I'm not sure how long I can put up with that much happy. I mean they're _aggressively_ friendly."

"And that's on a Monday."

"Oh crap... what are they going to be like on Friday?"

"Downright chipper, I would think."

"You're making fun of me," I say with a fake pout.

He laughs loudly at that, waiting until it dies down to a chuckle to answer, "Of course I am."

"Jerk," I mutter under my breath, just loud enough so he can hear.

He laughs again, quietly this time, and says, "I'm glad you met some people, though."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I have flashbacks of the various _it's hard to meet people at a new school_ pep talks I'd received from my mom leading up to my first day. Full of stuff like, y_ou have to seem approachable if you want to be approached_ and _maybe you should leave your iPod at home the first couple days, so people know it's okay to talk to you._

Now I can tell her I met people, and I won't have to hear that stuff anymore.

"Worried about me, were you?" I ask playfully. He gets kind of fidgety, and I look down at the ground quickly. He was worried about me. Exactly how infamous is my antisocial behaviour? I inwardly groan at the thought of my mom talking about it with my dad, and then my dad talking about it with Jacob. Is he waiting here because he doesn't think I can make friends on my own?

"Bella?" Jacob asks timidly.

"Yeah?"

"Everything alright?" He seems hesitant and embarrassed.

"Yeah, just... had a long day. What are you doing here anyway?"

"Your Dad invited us over for dinner."

"Oh, good," I reply absentmindedly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," I answer with a nod. It'll be nice to not eat in complete silence like we did last night. The relationship with my dad isn't super-awkward, but it's definitely got a long way to go.

The screen door behind us creaks open, and I turn to find my Dad looking out.

"I thought I heard you pull up."

"Yeah."

"So how was your first day of school?"

"Good," I reply with a shrug. Overall it was a good day. Aside from that one weird guy who knocked against me in Bio, everyone seemed nice. I actually met people, normal people who seem to like me. I guess I should at least try to make something of that. Maybe this town will be different. Maybe I can be different.


	2. New Bella

**A/N:** Beta'd by 13cellardoors and vindictive87 over at lj.

**New Bella**

In some ways my room being exactly the way I left it is good. It's my stuff, it has to be updated, but it's lacking in the generic guestroom feel I was expecting. On the other hand it's a bit like a shrine to the girl I used to be, and that sort of creeps me out, just a little.

I feel like my dad still thinks of me as that girl who used to come and spend summers here, making sandcastles on the beach, and drawing pictures of rainbows and flowers. I didn't do either of those things in the last couple years here, but even then I think his idea of me was lagging behind. He didn't see me enough to notice the changes as they happened, and when I was here he saw the girl he wanted to see.

I stop rifling through my bag of clothes for a minute to look around. Everything in here was collected over my yearly month in Forks, trinkets and souvenirs that didn't make their way to my real home. I remember some things better than others. The little rubber penguin is from a trip to the zoo when I was... must have been eight. I liked giraffes better, but the ones the gift shop had were kind of weird-looking, their necks just a little too long and thin in proportion to their heads and bodies. On the other side of things there's some little troll-type creature with orange hair sitting on my desk that I have absolutely no memory of.

With a glance at my alarm clock, I go back to looking through my bag. It's already Thursday, making it five days that I've lived in Forks, and I still haven't unpacked. I'm sure the fact that the dresser is white with pink butterflies on it has nothing to do with my hesitance.

Pulling out a wrinkled blue shirt and some dark jeans, I get dressed, and run downstairs. If I don't leave in five minutes I'm going to be late.

Dad went to work nearly an hour ago, but he left a box of cereal on the counter for me with a note reminding me he wouldn't be here when I got home. The only reason he had been until today was because he'd been getting off early to be here.

I grab a handful of Cherrios, dump them in a coffee cup, and grab my sweater and coat on the way out the door. I need a better alarm clock. I need the kind of alarm clock that screeches in your ear till your ass is out of bed, or better yet I need an alarm clock that will physically hurt me if I don't move after five minutes. Something that'll actually get me out of bed even if I shut it off, 'cause I always shut it off.

00000

My car door whinges as it swings shut. With my backpack hoisted over one shoulder, I dig into my pocket to get my ear buds. They're in my hands, about to go into my ears, when I see Eric and Angie talking by the front of the school. It's second nature for me to put on my music, and just walk to class on my own. It's well within my comfort zone, free of social pressures, and the possibility of being judged for who I actually am. People can make all the assumptions about me that they want, but real judgments always get to me.

With a sigh I stick my ear buds back in my pocket, and make my way over to them. I'm being different this time. I'm being sociable. That's what fresh starts are all about right?

I smile at them as I get within a couple of feet. When they smile back there's some surprise mixed in, and I realize this is the first time I've initiated any kind of contact. Well, this is something Bella does now.

Talking about myself in the third person, on the other hand, that can stay gone.

00000

"What's wrong with you?" I mutter as I sit down next to Jess. Her chin is propped up on her palm as she stares forlornly across the cafeteria at a table occupied by four exceptionally pale people, and an empty chair.

"Jessica's lovesick," Mike responds mockingly.

"Shut up... I'm just worried."

"About what?" I ask, poking my plastic fork at something vaguely resembling chicken on my plate.

"Edward," Mike supplies with a dreamy sigh. His silent laughter turns into a flinch when Jess kicks him under the table, really hard.

"It's not funny. He hasn't been in school since Monday. Something might have happened to him," Jessica scolds.

"Who's Edward?"

"He's the one that looks like a vampire," Mike snickers.

Jessica hits him, with her hand this time, and says, "He means he's pale."

Well, that really narrows it down. "This town barely gets any sun, isn't everyone pale?"

"Yeah, but he's like _never seen the sun in his life_ pale," Mike explains.

"Like a vampire," Eric cuts in.

"Exactly," Mike agrees triumphantly, and high-fives Eric.

"You shouldn't make fun of him for that," Jess says reproachfully.

Mike just waves her off, and turns to me to say, "You've seen him. He's in our biology class."

I shrug, turning my attention back to my "food", before muttering, "I don't know. I really don't know that many people's names."

"He sits beside you."

Weird Dude? She likes _him_? My gaze snaps up to look at Jess.

My... confusion must show because Mike smirks, and crows, "Exactly! See, Bella knows what I'm talking about." He puts his arm around my shoulders and squeezes when he says it, a sign of solidarity I guess. Not being the kind of person who enjoys touching, I fairly effectively extract myself out of his grasp. I say fairly effectively, because he doesn't seem to want to let go, so it isn't exactly easy, and it certainly isn't graceful.

Jess makes a kind of harrumph noise and begins poking at her food, still periodically glancing towards the empty chair.

"Are you coming to the movie with us on Saturday?" Eric asks me.

"Yeah, sure," I manage to get out after a couple moments of my deer in the headlights impression. Wow, I've really got to pull back on the enthusiasm before I hurt myself.

"Great!" Jess pipes up, her attention coming back to this table... our table, I guess. "Angela's coming to my place for a sleep over on Friday. You should come too!"

Oh crap.

"Umm..." I stall. I'm not sure I'm ready for the full-on girl-bonding experience. Not being the dive-in-headfirst type, I'd been hoping to ease into this.

"Oh, can I come too?!" Eric asks, shooting an exaggerated lascivious look at Jess.

"Umm..." Jess starts, scrunching up her face thoughtfully. "No."

"You're mean."

"Well, you're a little creepy," she counters, before flashing him a smile.

"Alright," I mutter, half-hoping no one will hear me.

"You'll come?" she asks happily.

"I will, but so help me god if you try to braid my hair," I say, with a finger pointing at her in warning. That shit will not be tolerated.

00000

"I don't know what I'm doing!" I screech frantically, as my fingers furiously press random buttons. "How do you shoot?!"

The movements on the TV screen stop, and the words Game Over come up.

"What happened?"

"You shot me!" Jake replies, his voice a mixture of annoyance, shock, and amusement.

"Sorry," I apologise sheepishly.

He turns and stares at me for a moment, before replying, "You're supposed to do that."

"Oh..." I say slowly. "Well, in that case... HA!"

He looks at me, shakes his head, and then smiles. "You are such a spaz."

"I am not!" I object.

He laughs at me, and says, "You should have seen yourself when you were playing."

"Yeah, well, I still killed you," I counter defensively.

That shuts him up pretty damn fast.

"Ah, Bella, now were you the one I heard shrieking all the way out back?" Billy asks as he comes into his living room.

I blush, and Jacob just throws his head back and laughs. Bastard.

I look over the back of the couch at him, and abashedly reply, "Hi, Billy."

"So what are you kids doing in here?"

"I killed him," I answer proudly. If he's gonna laugh at me, I'm gonna rub it in.

The scowl Jacob shoots me makes me smile like an idiot. Seriously, Billy probably thinks I'm unbalanced or something.

"Nicely done," he cheers with a clap. "He kicks my ass on that thing all the time. It was starting to get to his head. I guess you're not undefeated now, huh Jake."

"I demand a rematch."

I pretend to think it over for a moment, and then reply, "No way." I won, but it was definitely a fluke. If we play again I'm gonna lose _hard_, and I'd like to be able to hold this over him for a while. At least until the next thing he finds to laugh at me for.

"Come on! You can't play once and walk away," Jake cajoles.

"Yeah, especially when you beat him," Billy laughs, coming up next to my side of the couch.

"Beat me _once_, AND you kept making all those weird noises, it distracted me."

"Uh huh," I reply, rolling my eyes at his excuses.

"I don't think you're fooling anybody, buddy," Billy says, as we share a knowing look. Jacob's full of it.

"Just one more game, even if I win you still beat me the first time."

"Fine."

"Alright, I'm getting out of here before the screaming starts up again," Billy says, before he starts rolling his wheelchair out of the living room.

"Here we go," Jake warns as the game starts up.

"Which one am I?"

"The one on the top half," he mutters, staring intently at the screen.

"Ah ah ahhh... what the...?" I exclaim, once again hitting buttons at random. "What happened?"

"You killed me again," Jake states in a monotone voice.

"I like this game!" I shout as he tosses his controller onto the coffee table and dejectedly flops back against the couch.

I put my controller down next to his, and lean back, still periodically laughing at my artless success.

"Any plans for the weekend?" His head rolls on the back of the couch to face me.

"Actually yes."

"With the AF?"

"Who?"

"The Aggressively Friendly."

"Yeah... I like that, the AF," I chuckle.

"I was going to go with the Happy People, but I thought HP might lead to confusion if Harry Potter ever came up."

"Oh, I bet the AF love HP."

"Hey, I like HP," Jake says defensively.

"I didn't mean it like that. I like them... well, I didn't read the books, but I like the movies. I'm just saying I bet they _really_ love them, especially Jess. Probably got a thing for Malfoy, she seems to like the weirdoes."

"Where'd that come from?"

"She likes this guy, Edward... something."

"Cullen? Man, that guy is an _ass_. He's got some serious issues. He blew up a shed the Cullen's had on their property, and he cracked some guys skull open in a fight. Your Dad's a big fan."

Holy Shit! "Seriously?"

He looks at me funny, and replies, "I was being sarcastic. Your Dad doesn't..."

I whack him on the arm before he finishes, and clarify, "I was talking about the other stuff."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I do understand the concept of sarcasm thanks."

"Sorry," he apologizes with a sheepish grin, and continues, "...but yeah that stuff's true, and there're other things too. Have you met him?"

"If you use the word loosely, I basically just sat beside him for half an hour while he ignored me."

"Hmm... if I were you, I'd ask the teacher to move you somewhere else. The guy's cracked."

Alright, Weird Dude just got promoted to Scary Weird Dude.

"So what are you guys doing?" It takes me a second to figure out he's moved back to talking about the AF's. It's definitely a welcome change.

"Oh, well after school on Friday I'm going to Jess' house for a sleepover, and then on Saturday we're meeting Eric and Mike in Port Angeles for a movie. I've been informed there will also be lunch, and clothes shopping, which I have no hope of avoiding."

"Think you can survive all that?"

"I have no idea."

"Well... if your brain melts or something, can I have your iPod?"

Chuck? I don't care if I'm dead, nobody else can have Chuck, nobody else can _touch_ Chuck. Yes, I've named my iPod. I know that's weird, but... it suits him. Shut up.

"No, I'm getting buried with that thing. You're welcome to my laptop though."

"Alright, great," Jake replies, rubbing his hands together like he can't wait till it's his.

We sit quietly for a couple of minutes, listening to the light afternoon rain falling outside.

"What do girls do at sleepovers anyway?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.

My shoulders start to shake as I laugh at the answers he's probably hoping to get. Pillow fights in our underwear, kissing practice, all the old standards.

"God only knows. The last time I was at a sleepover, we watched movies, ate pizza, and then played truth or dare, which I have to say isn't nearly as crazy as everyone seems to think it is, from my experience anyway. It's possible we also played broken telephone."

"And when was this?"

"Um... eighth grade? Too old to be playing broken telephone, that's for damn sure."

"Sounds like a good time... I mean, I was kind of hoping for something a little more interesting, but..."

"I'm sure it'll be fun. I just have to figure out what the hell I'm gonna wear for pyjamas."

"Have you thought about... pyjamas?" he asks patronizingly.

"That's helpful, thanks. I don't have any, and I'm not entirely sure of the normal customs, but I don't think I can wear my usual underwear and tank top." That was probably too much information to share with a guy friend.

Jake makes a weird sort of strangled noise, and when I turn back to him he's staring at me, wide eyed and a little flustered.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing," he chokes out, shifting his gaze over to the blank TV screen. "Well... have fun."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be just marvellous."


	3. SWCIFD

**A/N:** Beta'd by 13cellardoors and vindictive87.

**SWCIFD**

I'm still throwing things into an overnight bag when Jess pulls up in front of the house. I really should have packed last night. I'd intended to, but I ended up staying at Jake's way too late. I was invited for dinner, and then Dad was called to join, and we didn't leave until nearly twelve. So yeah, packing didn't happen last night.

I grab my backpack, overnight bag, the pillow off my bed, the sleeping bag my dad left by the door for me, and my coat and head towards the door. With my arms full, and much of my sight blocked, I miscalculate where the doorframe is, and knock my shoulder into it. It hurts, but luckily Angie's standing there and helps me catch my stuff before it falls to the wet ground.

"Thank you," I say gratefully, with a relieved sigh. Spending the night in a wet sleeping bag would've been very unpleasant. She takes most of the stuff from my arms, and carries it off to the car while I lock up.

I glance ruefully at my truck as I pass. It was agreed that we would all carpool to school, then to Jess', and then finally to Port Angeles to meet up with the guys because it was more economical, or maybe they said efficient... environmental? One of those. All I know is that I was somehow talked out of driving my truck, which leaves me with no metaphorical escape pod. It's not that I actually think I'm going to bail on this whole thing. In fact I've promised myself I'm going to see this through, shopping and all. I just think knowing I could conceivably do so would be comforting, so much for that.

00000

"No," Jess replies definitively.

"Oh come on! It'd be fun," Eric says encouragingly.

"We are not going to see a movie where they cut people's heads off, or whatever they do in those things."

"I agree," Angie says, her face scrunching up in distaste, "Even the ads for that thing are brutal."

"You went to see Sweeney Todd with us, you liked that," Mike reminds them.

"That had Johnny Depp in it, it's _completely_ different."

"It's got..." Mike starts, and then he seems to get stuck, "people in it."

"People,_ really_? You never mentioned it had _people_ in it," Jess says mockingly, rolling her eyes at his glare.

"Dude, that was weak," Eric chides, shaking his head.

"Well then, you come up with something," Mike replies defensively.

"No man, it's a lost cause. Alright, no horror movies, BUT there will be no chick flicks either."

"Fine," Jess reluctantly agrees.

"So what are we going to see?" Angie asks.

"I don't really know what else is on," Eric says.

There's a moment of silence while they search their memories for a movie that's playing now.

"Wait a second!" Eric shouts, getting funny looks from the group of girls at the next table. "This is not two against two, we have a fifth vote now."

The way all their heads turn towards me as if synchronized is very possibly the creepiest thing I've ever seen. Seriously, I got one of those spine shivers.

"Bella, wouldn't you rather see a romantic comedy..." Jess starts.

"Chick flick," Eric corrects.

"...Than watch people be hacked to pieces," She finishes forcefully, with a death glare at Eric for the interruption.

I'd been staying out of the conversation to avoid exactly this. Apparently it's unavoidable.

"If you pick our movie, we'll buy your popcorn for you," Mike says, tapping Eric on the shoulder as he says _we_.

"You can't bribe her!" Jess shouts.

"You two are going to have all night with her, I'm just trying to make my argument while I can," Mike replies.

"Popcorn is not an argument, it's a bribe!" Jess practically yells. This is getting a little out of hand.

"It's not a bribe, it's an incentive," Eric cuts in.

"Yeah!" Mike loudly agrees.

"Bullshit!" Jess yells back. Angie turns towards me, and we share an _I can't believe they're actually doing this_ moment.

"Look, it's up to her. Bella, what do you want to see?" Eric asks, turning towards me as the table goes silent.

Shit.

"Why don't we wait and see what's playing at the theatre?" I suggest.

Eric and Jess both sigh, and start bickering again.

Mike turns to me and gives me an appraising look. "So you're one of those logical types are you?"

"I try," I respond with a small laugh.

He nods, and mutters, "Interesting."

I snort at his mock-serious expression, and he starts chuckling.

Mike looks like he's about to say something, when Jess excitedly squeals, "He's back!"

I follow her gaze to the entrance of the cafeteria, and see Scary Weird Dude walking towards the back table with the empty chair.

"You seriously need to move on," Eric says, shaking his head at her huge smile.

"It could happen," Jess replies defensively.

"You should try acting more like you're his sister, that really seems to do it for them," Mike taunts.

"What?" I ask, cutting off Jess' response. I really don't get the joke.

"The people he's sitting with over there," Mike starts, pointing towards the table SWD just sat down at, "are his siblings. The girl with the black hair is with the blonde guy, and the blonde girl is with the guy with the brown hair."

"What do you mean _with_?" There's no way he means _with._

"I mean... you know.... _with,"_ he says, while his eyes imply all kinds of not family activities.

Okay, maybe that is what he means. Ew.

I don't say anything, I don't think I can make words right now, but I'm pretty sure my face says it for me. Not fucking okay.

"It's not that weird," Jess interjects a little desperately, "I mean it's kinda weird, but they're not _actually_ related."

"Yeah, well, legally they are, so..." Mike lets his words trail off with a shrug and a grimace, another variation on the physical expression of _not fucking okay._

Alright, so clearly Scary Weird Dude is not going to cover it. Scary Weird Creepy-Incestuous-Family Dude should work nicely though.

Shit! I'm going to be sitting next to him in Bio after lunch, in that dark little back corner for an hour. That's just all kinds of awesome. I'll just have to be careful to avoid calling him Bro, and I should be fine.

Ew.

I think I'm pretty much done with food today.

00000

"I'm just saying horror movies can be fun too," Mike says as we walk down the busy hall towards Bio.

"I don't find being scared fun." Horror movies give me nightmares, really freaky nightmares. I watched the movie _It_ when I was fourteen. I woke up screaming every night for two weeks.

"It's like... you know, catharsis."

"Isn't that when you cry so much over somebody else's tragedy that you purge out all your own sadness, or something?" I had three weeks of Oedipus Rex last year in English. I don't care if it makes you feel better, that shit is messed up.

"I'm sure you can purge fear." And probably give myself a heart attack in the process.

"I don't know." I don't care if it's cathartic, I don't want to watch their movie pick anymore than Jess and Angie do, of course I don't really want to choose sides either. I'm hoping we'll get there and something will be on that all, or at least the majority of us want to see.

"You know what we should do?" Mike asks.

"What?"

"We should ask to be reassigned to sit together."

"In Bio?" Well, obviously he means in Bio. Our only other class together is gym, and we already sit next to each other at lunch. I guess there could be a movie seating plan that I'm unaware of, though. I can definitely see Jess doing that.

"Of course in Bio, then you wouldn't have to sit next to Edward."

"I don't think incest is contagious," I laugh, but it makes me a little queasy to say the word out loud.

Okay, they're not _actually_ related, but still, if you grow up with somebody as your sibling it's like you are.

"Yeah, but you're going to have to sit next to him for the rest of the year, and he's an ass." That sounds familiar. "Plus the girl I sit next to is really annoying."

That actually sounds like a good idea. I'm not looking forward to spending quality time next to Scary Weird Creepy-Incestuous-Family Dude all year. I think I'll have to shorten that to SWCIFD, because even in my head that's long.

"Although," he starts hesitantly, "if we asked to sit together people might get the wrong idea."

"Such as?" Doesn't moving imply that you don't want to sit next to your previous bench partner?

"That we're... together." Oh, they assume the goal is to move _to_, instead of away.

"Huh... maybe we should see how it goes then," I suggest awkwardly.

"Yeah, that's probably a good idea... although if you decide you want to move I'll back you up."

"Thanks, Mike," I reply with a smile. I think I just got further proof that hanging out with the AF was a good idea.

We walk into the room together, and he sits down three benches from the back, leaving me to go the rest of the way on my own.

SWCIFD is already on the stool next to the wall, and I slip onto the one next to him. Once again there's no reaction, which is more than fine with me. It's fantastic actually.

00000

"Anaphase," SWCIFD states as he moves away from the microscope to write it on his sheet. I assume he's talking to me, even though he never actually acknowledges my presence, because... who else would he be talking to?

I turn the microscope towards me and look through the eyepiece. He's right, it is indeed anaphase. I write it down on the line next to **Slide #1:** on my work sheet.

"You don't trust me?" he asks flatly. He doesn't sound offended, or even vaguely curious. I'm getting the impression he doesn't really care. He breaks his complete silence to ask me something he doesn't really want to know? He's messing with me. The bastard's trying to make me feel awkward. Maybe I should add... no, it's too long already.

He's sort of looking at me. It's like he's looking at me, but past me at the same time, if that's even possible.

"Do I have a reason to?" I ask, with an arched eyebrow. It comes out a little snottier then I'd intended, but he can bite me, so... whatever.

I don't really see the shift, but I know it must have happened, because now he is looking at me, right at me. One side of his mouth twitches in a sort of, almost, kind of smile, before he mutters, "Fair enough."

I remove the slide, and put in the next one.

"Metaphase," I say, leaning away from the microscope. Then he checks. Like he said, fair enough.

The rest of the assignment is completed in much the same simultaneous, but independent fashion. We go back and forth, back and forth until the slides are done, and then we go back to ignoring each other. If all group work was like this, I might actually like group work.

I'm having a very odd day.

00000

"I'm just saying, if we have a bunch of stuff due on the same day they should push due dates back. It's like they want us to not get things done," Jess says.

"Or they want you to plan ahead," I reply as we make our way towards her car.

"Who does that? Nobody does that. We have lives, jobs. I mean, do they not realize we've got better things to do?"

"Hey guys," Angie greets breathlessly as she runs up to us, and starts walking beside me.

"Hey," I answer back with a smile.

"What are you talking about?"

"My teachers are conspiring to crush my social life."

"Just plan ahead and you'll be fine," Angie advises.

" Anyway, for tonight's movie selections I was thinking we'd go with a bit of a retro musical theme. Grease, Cry Baby, and then cap it off with West Side Story. Romance, singing, choreographed dancing, and lots and _lots_ of leather jackets," Jess announces excitedly, knitting her hands over her heart as she says leather jackets.

"Sounds good to me," Angie says.

I've seen both Grease and West Side Story many times thanks to Mom's movie nights, but I've never heard of Cry Baby. What kind of a title is that anyway?

"What exactly is Cry Baby?"

"Oh my god, Cry Baby is... drapes and squares, bad boy Johnny Depp, theme park openings, jail breaks, and alphabet killers. It's just... you'll _love_ it," Jess replies giddily.

"You really will Bella. It's very funny," Angie assures in a much more sober tone.

"Alright," I agree, but still what kind of a title is that?

We throw our backpacks in the trunk with our overnight stuff. Jess' kind of staring off into space beside the driver's door when I come up beside her to get in the back. It isn't until I move to snap her out of it that I realize she's not so much spacey as staring... at SWCIFD, who's walking across the parking lot with the petite girl with short black hair, and the blonde guy she's apparently doing from the Caf. The girl is walking between them talking very energetically, and SWCIFD smirks at something she says.

"Jess?" I say slowly, trying to get her out of whatever slightly stalkerish moment she's having.

"Hmm... yeah?" she replies distractedly without taking her eyes off him.

"Jess," I repeat coaxingly. The next step is shaking, if that doesn't snap her out of it she may be gone to the world.

"Yeah," she mutters impatiently and hands me her keys.

What the hell am I supposed to do with her keys?

"What's up?" Angie asks over the roof of the car.

"She gave me her keys," I say in bewilderment, holding up my hand to show her the ring.

Angie scrunches up her face in confusion, and then follows Jess' gaze across the lot. She sighs, and shakes her head, before shouting, "Jessica!"

Jess startles and turns to face her. "What?"

"Are we going?" she asks pointedly.

"Yeah, yes we are. Let's go," she replies, her voice gaining strength as she comes back to reality. She stares down at her hands for a second, and then mutters, "I think I lost my keys."

I silently hand them to her, pull open the car door, and climb into the back seat.

With one last look at SWCIFD, she climbs into the car, and we're off to her house for a night of pizza and musicals.

00000

Okay, I'm mature enough to admit when I'm wrong, and boy was I wrong. Cry Baby is a fantastic title for a movie... well, for that movie. I have a whole new appreciation for musicals.

"I told you you'd love it," Jess gloats.

"And you were right," I agree.

"I often am, people don't appreciate that about me," she replies, with a dramatic flip of her hair to enhance her feigned vanity. She grimaces and starts rubbing her neck.

"Did you hurt yourself?" I chuckle.

"Hair flipping is dangerous."

"You learn something new every day."

We settle into silence for a few moments, before Angie says, "Oh! I was supposed to call home when we got here."

She scrambles up from out of her green sleeping bag on the floor and pauses.

"Backpacks are still in the car, right?"

"Yeah, there's a phone in the kitchen you can use," Jess offers.

"Alright, be back in a minute," Angie says, before she races up the stairs.

Jess takes in a deep breath, before turning to me to ask, "So, you sit next to Edward in Biology?"

She's clearly trying for casual, but the blush creeping up her cheeks gives her away. The fact that it sounds like she takes in a breath as she says his name is also less than normal. I try to quickly scan through our previous SWCIFD-related conversations to see if she always does that, maybe it was just a really badly planned breath, but I don't remember her saying his name before.

"Yeah."

"So... what do you think of him?" Maybe I could get her to say his name again, see if it comes out the same.

"I really don't know him," I answer noncommittally. "What do you think of him?"

She's definitely blushing now.

"I know everybody thinks he's an asshole, and I guess... I think he's just shy. I sat next to him in Geology. He doesn't talk to people a lot... rarely ever if you're not a Cullen, but he's really smart, and obviously really cute. Have you seen his eyes? And his hair... he's got a great smile too," Jess gushes. Prior to this moment I thought that the use of the word "gushes" was overly dramatic, completely unrealistic. It's not, it's spot-on. Jessica Stanley is verbally gushing out her feelings for SWCIFD, and it's making me question her sanity.

"When did you guys have Geology together?"

"Grade nine." That's one hell of a torch, three years' worth to be exact, assuming that's when it all started. "I used to pretend I didn't have a pen or my pen ran out, so I had an excuse to talk to him. I mean it was just _Edward, do you have an extra pen I can borrow?_ But it got a response, even if it was just _yeah_ or _sure_."

She does the breathy thing again when she says his name; it was definitely not a coincidence. I'm finding this very worrying. What if it's a warning sign of a greater problem, like complete and utter insanity?

"What are you guys talking about?" Angie asks, flopping down onto her sleeping bag, and sitting cross-legged.

"We were just discussing movies," Jess replies hurriedly. That was interesting.

Angie gives me a questioning look, but I just shrug. I'm not entirely sure what that was about either; her feelings don't seem to be much of a secret.

There's an awkward pause, and then Angie says, "So... anybody else notice Mike fawning over Bella like a lovesick fool?"

"Impossible to miss. The question is did you notice Eric doing it as well?" Jess sounds positively gleeful.

It's gonna be a long night.

**A/N:** Do I really need to ask you to review?


	4. Stare Down at La Bella Italia

**A/N:** Beta'd by 13cellardoors over at lj.

**Stare Down at La Bella Italia**

My eyes instinctively squint in preparation for the bright light outside the theatre, but it isn't needed. It's just as rainy and overcast today in Port Angeles as it usually is in Forks. As a group we turn left, and start walking down the sidewalk in a loose formation.

"Well, that was... interesting," Jess states with a slight grimace.

"Oh please, you loved it," Mike counters.

"I did, did I?" Jess asks, annoyed and maybe a little amused. "So, what was my favourite part?"

"You can claim you look down on it all you want, but I heard you laughing," Mike replies smugly. Maybe a comedy wasn't Jess's first choice, but I heard her laughing too.

"It had some good moments," she concedes reluctantly.

Mike looks at me and rolls his eyes theatrically. "Why are women so stubborn, Bella?"

"Evolutionary trait to help us cope with stupidity," I reply dryly.

Jess' laugh is loud and startled. "That'd be you, Newton!" she crows. "I knew I liked you," she says to me, linking her arm through mine as we walk.

"Alright, Swan, well played, but just so you know you just talked yourself out of the chance to cheat off my Bio test."

"Yeah, nobody flunks Bio tests like Mike," Eric quips, punching him playfully on the arm.

"He really outdoes himself in History though," Angie says. "It's not easy to flunk Mrs. Madigan's summer school history, but he pulled it off."

"He's very dedicated," Eric says.

Mike raises his hands in defeat, and looks at me accusingly. "Do you see what you've started?"

"What can I say? I didn't know I was such a trendsetter," I reply with a shrug.

He grins at me, and puts his arm around my shoulder. "I can't stay mad at you."

"Do you think you can manage to stay out of my personal space?" I ask with a smirk.

"For now," he replies with a wink, as he moves his arm.

Jess snorts at him, and starts to chuckle, which sets me off laughing, and we end up partially leaning on each other as we walk to the restaurant. Okay, so I was wrong; coming out with them was a very good idea. This whole weekend was a very good idea. Lesson learned.

I jump a little when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.

"Hello?"

"_Bella, hey."_

"Jacob?" I thought Jacob would be fishing with our fathers today. Maybe something happened while they were fishing. My stomach sinks at the thought. "Has something happened?"

"_What? No, everything's fine. I was just wondering if you needed a family emergency."_ He offers playfully.

"No, I'm good actually, but thanks," I laugh. I smile reassuringly in response to the concerned look Angie gives me.

"_Any time."_

"I have to go, but I'll see you at dinner... assuming there's any fish to cook."

"_There's always fish."_

"Well, then I'll see you tonight."

"_Sounds good. See you later."_

"Bye."

"Who's Jacob?" Mike asks as soon as I hang up.

"He's a friend," I respond, shoving my phone back into my pocket.

"What kind of friend?"

"The friendly kind," I answer lightly. "Where are we going for lunch?"

"La Bella Italia," Jess replies with an ironic smile.

"Seriously?"

"Yup, they have really good pasta," she answers with a laugh.

"Oh, wow, I didn't put that together before," Eric chuckles.

"And you called me stupid," Mike says.

"I _implied_ you were stupid, completely different," Eric responds.

"And where is this place?" I ask, before Mike gets the chance to respond to Eric.

"It's just up there," Angie replies, pointing to a building with an old-fashioned wooden sign hanging vertical to the red brick front.

The rest of the walk is comprised of Mike and Eric going back and forth pointing out stupid things the other did. Luckily Jess' death glare shuts the conversation down before we get into the restaurant.

"You have to teach me how to do that," I mutter to her as we walk through the door.

There's a little entranceway, and then a small dining room beyond the hostess's podium, they'd probably call it intimate though. It's all dark wood and rich, warm colours. The muted grey light coming through the windows isn't providing much illumination, and there're lit candles on all the tables. It has a very romantic dinner feel to it, even though it's only one in the afternoon.

"Table for five," Angie tells the waiting hostess.

"I'll get you lessons from my mother; she's the master of the evil eye," Jess mutters back, walking next to me through the dining area.

"And is that a paid position?"

"Well, she does handle the money, so... kind of," she replies, angling to avoid bumping into an empty chair.

The hostess leads us to one of the larger round tables in the centre of the room, and tries to hide her amused smile when Eric pulls out my chair for me.

"Thanks," I say awkwardly as he takes a seat next to me. Mike gives him an odd look and takes a seat across the table.

"No problem," he replies happily. Next to me Jess has the same amused smile as the waitress, and Angie looks like she's trying very hard not to laugh at Mike's petulant expression.

"Your server will be with you in a moment," the hostess says politely, and then she turns and walks away, before the smile threatening to burst out comes through. I can actually feel my cheeks burning, which means I'm at stage four cheek redness. There are only five stages. I'm really glad it's dark in here.

I'm sitting next to Jess, so when her breath does a weird catch thing I hear it. I look over to find her staring straight ahead, and I follow her eyes to the table behind Mike, and Angie. Oh Jesus.

Sitting at the far side of a round table just like ours, facing towards us, is SWCIFD. Not just him, the whole cafeteria gang's there. I guess I know what Jess is going to be doing throughout the entire meal.

"Don't stare," I order quietly. Telling her not to breathe would probably be more effective.

"No, right," Jess murmurs distractedly. She shifts her eyes to look down at her cutlery, which holds her attention for about five seconds and then her gaze darts up to look at him again.

I sigh. This is going to be... interesting.

"What?" Eric asks me.

"What?" I reply in confusion.

"You sighed."

"Yes, I did. Is that not allowed?"

"As long as it's not expressing anything negative, it's perfectly fine," he replies with a small smile.

"Okay," I laugh, and Mike glares at him again.

The waitress comes over and hands out menus, tells us the specials, takes drink orders, and then leaves us to make up our minds. The table goes quiet as everyone looks over the menus.

"Why do you always have to be so difficult?" Drifts over from the other table in an annoyed female voice.

"I'm not being difficult, I just disagree." I don't even have to look up to know that's SWCIFD, but we worked together, so that makes sense... I guess.

There's a huff that sounds somewhere between annoyance and disbelief, and the same woman states, "You know I'm right."

"I would say the exact opposite, actually," SWCIFD replies with an amused laugh.

I look up to see the blonde narrows her eyes briefly, and then flash him a toothy smile. "Oh, come on," she says coaxingly.

"You seem to forget I'm not as dazzled by your dimples as most guys." Guys? I think I'm a little... dazzled. Who says dazzled? It does kind of fit though.

"It's not her dimples they're staring at," a man quips quietly. It wasn't her boyfriend, his lips didn't move, must've been the blond guy facing away from me.

The woman's jaw drops, her eyes narrow, and the entire table goes quiet. Then there's a squeaky sudden burst of laughter that probably escaped from the little woman, and the rest of the table starts roaring with laughter, except the blonde woman. The large guy next to her hits the table with his hand rattling the plates and glasses, and her lips only press tighter.

"You're all assholes. I know at least one person here who isn't getting sex anytime soon," she says with an evil smile at the big guy. She's talking about having sex with her brother, her _brother._ "Oh, make that two," she corrects with a significant glance at SWCIFD. Is she having sex with him too? Do they have giant adopted sibling orgies? That'd be one hell of a family night. _Ew_.

"Oh, that's cold, well done," The blond man compliments the woman. SWCIFD gives her a death glare that beats the crap out of Jess's, followed by a sneering smile.

"Come on, baby, you know I love your dimples," the brown-haired guy says apologetically, his hand reaching out to touch hers on top of the table. Her face softens towards him slightly, and then she smiles and kisses him on the cheek.

"Well, that's good, because that's all you're going to be seeing for quite some time," she replies in a sickly sweet voice, and the table erupts in laughter again. Even SWCIFD seems to have got his sense of humour back, and I'm pretty sure he snorts.

The blonde guy turns, and smiles widely at the madly laughing small woman; the smile is fond, sweet... loving in a very non-creepy way.

"Have you decided what you'd like, or do you need more time?" the waitress asks, pulling my attention away from the other table.

The others give their orders while I quickly scan the menu.

"And for you?" she prompts me politely.

"I'll have the mushroom ravioli," I reply with a tight smile, handing over my menu.

Wow, my drink's here. When did that happen?

It isn't until I'm reaching out to pick up my glass of pop that I realize: I hate mushrooms. Shit.

I'm about to try to get her attention so I can change my order when I realize people would probably want to know why I ordered something I don't want. I don't really like how _I was too busy eavesdropping to look over the menu, so I said the first dish that jumped out_ makes me sound, so I'll just shut up.

00000

"It's incomprehensible," Mike says indignantly.

"It's not that bad," I reply, spearing a ravioli with my fork. It turns out I do like mushrooms.

"I read the entire thing, and I have no idea what's going on. There are too many words and it's all complicated. Why couldn't he just be direct, say exactly what he means?"

"That's how people talked in Shakespeare's time," Angie says. I glance quickly to my left, and... yup, she's staring again. I lightly nudge Jess under the table to snap her out of her trance. She's lucky SWCIFD et al. aren't particularly aware of their surroundings, or she would have been caught out by now.

Jess shakes her head, and turns her attention back to the conversation, for now at least.

"We read ancient Greek stuff that was clearer then Shakespeare," Mike counters.

"That's because it's translated," I answer.

"Well, maybe they should translate Shakespeare too, because it might as well be a foreign language."

"We're done with Macbeth soon, though," Eric adds.

"Yeah, but we're reading Hamlet later in the year," Jess says. Eric and Mike both groan.

"I like Shakespeare," Angie says.

"How can you like that stuff?" Eric asks.

"I'm pretty pro-Shakespeare," I say. They're good stories, even if I do need copious amounts of notes to understand what's going on.

"Are you? Oh... well, it's not that bad," Eric mutters.

Angie giggles, and I look up at her. Behind her I notice SWCIFD staring at me with a curious expression. He doesn't look away when I catch his eye; he just keeps staring. I give him a quizzical look, and then he seems frustrated and looks away. That dude is seriously weird.

It happens again not ten minutes later, but this time I'm not confused. I know exactly what he's doing. The fucker's trying to mess with me again.

So, I stare right back. If he thinks I'm looking away first, he can... well, he's going to be disappointed. This whole intense staring thing is not good for brain function.

His eyes narrow at me, which is freaky, and really very menacing. My heart rate definitely just ratcheted up a few more notches, and my breath's starting to feel a bit short, but I am _not_ looking away. My level of stubborn can kick your level of crazy's ass... asshole.

He's not going to look away. He's never going to look away. We're just going to sit here in some fucked up staring contest forever.

Maybe I should look away. I'm not looking away. I'm not losing whatever this is. You can be as scary, and as creepy, and as weird as you want, but I'm gonna win. You're going down... and you're going to be crushed when you get there. I will never, ever, ever trash talk out loud. Focus.

Then his expression changes, it's little more... appraising? Which is followed by a bit of a smirk, or possibly a grimace, I think it's a smirk, and then he looks away. Suck it.

The tension, and fear, and generally weirdness that had built up just evaporates, and I can't help but laugh. Everybody looks at me funny, because apparently whatever conversation I've completely missed wasn't funny. I just shrug, and eat some more pasta.

I really do like mushrooms.

00000

"Dad!" I call out, pushing the front door open, and stumbling into the hall with my arms full.

"Hey," Jake says, coming into the hall from the living room. "Charlie's out back with my dad."

"Doing what?"

"They're cooking the fish on the barbeque, so they've set up out there." He reaches out, and takes my sleeping bag, and knapsack out of my arms.

"Ah." I start off towards the stairs.

"Where are you going?"

"My room, come on," I reply. My foot catches on the lip of a step, and I nearly fall right on my face, but I manage to catch myself in time. I'm quite proud of that, actually.

"You alright?" Jake asks, coming up behind me on the steps.

"Yup, didn't even fall. Moving on."

I hip check my bedroom door open, dump my armful of stuff down, and then rush to kick the bra on my floor under my bed. I get it under before he's through the door, but I lose my balance in the process, and unceremoniously drop down onto the foot of my bed.

"Where do you want this?"

"Just dump it," I answer, waving my hand dismissively. "It's nothing that's going to break."

I reach down and grab my laptop off the floor.

"You can take a seat," I offer, indicating the desk chair across from the foot of my bed. "I have to email my mom, before I forget. I don't want her to flip out on me again."

He nods, and pulls out the chair, spinning it around to face me, before taking a seat.

"So you didn't think I could hack it, huh?" I ask playfully, powering up my computer.

"I was just giving you an out, should you need it," he responds in a placating tone.

"Well, I didn't," I answer proudly.

"Good for you."

"Oh, that wasn't patronizing at all."

He laughs, and starts looking around my room. I get onto the internet, and start writing to mom. I even tell her about Mike and Eric, and their combined weirdness. She's going to have a field day with that. Once a boy kissed me during recess in grade two, and for weeks she couldn't be around me for more than ten minutes without bringing it up.

"Are you a fan of the Smurfs?" I look up to see him holding the orange-haired troll from my desk.

"Smurfs are blue."

"So, what is this?"

"It's a troll."

"Are you a fan of trolls?"

"Sure, why not?"

"And butterflies?" he asks, looking over at my painted dresser.

"Who doesn't love butterflies?"

"What are you doing tomorrow?"

"Schoolwork mostly."

"All day?"

"Got something on your mind, Jake?"

He smiles, and looks down. "I was thinking you might want to come over and go up to the tidal pools, before they freeze over. I remember you were talking about them the other day, and tomorrow's supposed to be sunny." That is tempting.

"I could probably come over in the afternoon."

"Alright, great," he says with a big smile I return.

00000

Jake and his Dad left about twenty minutes ago, and now I'm standing in the kitchen with my Dad, doing the dishes in comfortable silence.

"So, Bella," he says, putting some glasses away in the cupboard.

"Yeah, Dad." I rinse the suds off the dinner plate in my hand, and put it in the dry rack.

"I was thinking, umm... you might want to change your room."

"What do you mean?" I ask, turning to give him my full attention.

"Well, I thought maybe you'd like to update it a bit. You're not a little girl anymore; maybe your room should reflect that. I mean, if you don't want to..."

"No, I think that's a good idea." I think that's a fantastic idea, actually.

"Oh... good, well, Port Angeles would probably be better for paint and such, more selection then you'll get in Forks. If you wanted to go this weekend... I could take some time off. I mean, I understand if you want to go with your friends, but..."

"Saturday alright?" I interrupt. The man needs to be put out of his misery.

"Yeah," he answers with a wide smile, "Saturday's great."

"Okay, but we're taking my truck. I'm not driving down to Port Angeles in the cruiser."

"I can live with that," he happily agrees. I can't help but smile like an idiot, as I turn back to the full sink.

**A/N: **Next chapter: Bella snaps, you know... literally.


	5. Cold Snaps and Bone Cracks

**A/N: **Beta'd by 13cellardoors and lunaserenade over at lj.

**Cold Snaps and Bone Cracks**

It's rainy, and windy, and cold. My knees are sore, my palms sting, and I think I might have done something to my lower back.

These are the things I mutter about, in-between curses, as I rub the damp dirt off my hands again. Jake just laughs quietly, muttering "we're almost there" and "you've got to be careful" amongst other not-fucking-helpful things.

We start off on the trail again. I've come this far, I'm making it to the tidal pools, even if it kills and/or seriously injures me.

The path follows the landscape of the forest, which means it goes up and down, over rock outcrops and around looming trees. We're currently picking our way down a moderately steep hill.

Given that I can fall on my ass on a flat surface, it's not exactly surprising that I lose my footing on a damp dirt path with an incline. It's also not particularly surprising that once said footing is lost, I tumble down the path until I come to an abrupt stop against a moss-covered tree trunk.

"Oh, that's just fantastic," I mutter groggily as I twist my body around to lie on my back.

"Bella? Bella, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." I slap his hands away so I can sit up on my own. My back actually feels better, now that is surprising. Apparently trees make great chiropractors... does that count as holistic medicine? Probably not.

I let him pull me up by my hands, and then I start brushing the leaves and dirt off my clothes.

"I knew you were clumsy, but I never realized you couldn't actually walk."

"I can walk."

"Right, you can put one foot in front of the other, but remaining vertical seems to be a bit of a challenge."

"I'm perfectly fine!"

"You're going to break yourself," he laughs, plucking a large green leaf out of my hair.

I huff, much like I used to do when I was three and didn't get my way, and start up the next hill.

"Bell, wait." His hand wraps around my upper arm from behind, pulling me to a stop.

"What?"

"Get on my back." He's got to be joking.

"What?"

"Come on, if you snap something I'm going to have to carry you anyway, so it might as well happen before you need to be taken to the hospital."

"I'm not..."

"You are," Jake states, turning his back to me, before he crouches down.

"Stupid fucking boys," I mumble under my breath, climbing onto his back.

He stands up, and gives a bit of a jump, settling me higher on his back. "You're heavier then you look," he says with an exaggerated grunt.

I whack him on the shoulder, and then quickly put my arm around his neck again.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea. What if you drop me?"

"I didn't last time," he replies, starting up the path.

"Last time?"

"You don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"We came up here on our own when we were kids, and you twisted your ankle. I carried you all the way home like this."

"Did you?" How do I not remember that? I remember hobbling around Dad's house one summer, and continually falling on my ass, because limping made my balance even worse, but I've got no memory of getting injured.

"I did, and then you asked me to marry you."

"What?!"

"Apparently you felt I was a _keeper_." Oh, so I've repressed it.

My head thumps forwards against the back of his shoulder, and I grumble, "Why, do you have to remember these things?" into his jacket.

"Hey, that was one of my shining moments. When we got home your Dad gave me a pat on the back, and I got a cookie I was allowed to eat before dinner, and my sisters didn't get _anything_. It was awesome."

"Well, I'm glad you remember it fondly."

"And apparently you don't remember it at all."

"Yeah... denial's great like that." He starts to shake with laughter, so I wrap my arms tighter around his neck. He's much too tall to fall off of.

"Jake!" I screech in alarm.

"Calm down, we're here." He walks us through a gap between two trees, and suddenly the closed atmosphere of the forest gives way to open rock and water with a smattering of small green plants. Now this I remember.

Jake sets me down, and right away I nearly fall on the wet rocks. He grips my forearm, keeping me upright.

"Bella, the water's cold and the rocks are hard, maybe you should sit down."

"I think that's a good idea." Jake's head quirks to the side, and he looks at me suspiciously. "What?" I ask self-consciously.

"I'm just surprised, swans are notoriously stubborn."

"Well I've got Higginbotham in there too, they're much more reasonable."

"I meant the bird," he says with a laugh.

"Oh yeah, because I've got a lot in common with them."

"I would say so," he agrees seriously, pushing me down to sit on a boulder by the side of the pools.

"I was being sarcastic," I say awkwardly.

"I wasn't," he replies offhandedly. Oh. "So, how are things going with the AF?"

"Pretty good. The guys are being kind of weird, and I'm getting a little worried about Jess, but Angie's a lovely, seemingly normal person."

"What are they doing that's weird?"

"I think Angie called it... _fawning_?"

"Over you." It takes me a second to confirm that he said it like an obvious statement, instead of the incredulous question I'd been expecting. That's... weird.

"Yeah, clearly they're a little mentally defective," I joke. I wish it hadn't sounded so forced.

"You know you're pretty, right?"

"What?"

"You, you're pretty... some might say beautiful, even if you are a danger to those within a twenty foot radius. Plus there's funny, and smart."

I'm definitely at a level five blush, which means I can feel the heat in my now bright red ears. I divert my gaze to the water, and try to shrug it off.

"So what's the worry with Jess?"

I clear my throat, and look over at the ground by his feet. "Well, she's into that guy, to what I deem to be a worrying extent."

"What guy? Edward Cullen?" If you want to call him that, sure.

"Yeah, she's really intense about him."

"Huh. I guess some people go for that kind of thing."

"Is creepy a thing?"

"He's a bad boy. You know, doesn't care what anyone thinks, breaks all the rules. I guess some girls get a kick out of that."

There's a moment of comfortable silence as my eyes travel over the pools. I should have made a trip up here when I first came to Forks, now we're on the verge of a cold snap, and there's not as much activity as I remember from before.

"You seem clumsier then usual today. You haven't been drinking have you?" he teases.

"No, I didn't sleep well last night though... kept waking up from weird dreams."

"What did you dream about? If you don't mind me asking."

SWCIFD staring through my eyes, all the way down to my soul. "I don't remember."

00000

"I can't wait till Friday," Jess sighs, poking through her packaged salad for a crouton.

"Friday? Screw Friday. I can't wait till Saturday," Eric says.

"Well, tomorrow's Friday, and then the weekend. Two wonderful days," Angie says happily.

"Maybe for you, my dad's making me work all weekend," Mike grumbles.

"My mom's taking me down to Seattle for some quality clothes shopping Saturday. You guys are welcome to join," Jess offers, pointing to Angie and I with her plastic fork.

"I'm going over to Port Angeles," I say.

"With who?" Mike asks, a little too quickly.

"My dad," I reply with a laugh. "I'm redoing my room." I'm actually starting to get really excited about it. It feels like things have shifted a bit with my dad, like maybe he's starting to see _me_ instead of the little girl I used to be.

"Angie?"

"Sure," she answers with a nod, and then takes a sip of her ice tea.

"So are you painting, and everything?" Mike asks quietly, leaning towards me across the table.

"At the moment my room's cotton candy pink, so painting is a must," I reply in the same conspiratorial tone. From the looks he keeps shooting down the table I'm starting to think he's trying to keep Eric out of the conversation.

He nods thoughtfully, before he says, "Well if you need any help, with painting or whatever, I'd be more than glad to lend a hand."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks, that'd be great," I answer with a smile.

He smiles back, and then quickly straightens, trying to look nonchalant, when he notices Eric is looking at us.

00000

As our teacher shuffles through a stack of transparencies I covertly glance to my right. SWCIFD is still just sitting there, looking straight ahead. Tuesday, the first day with Bio after the restaurant... incident, he once again pretended I didn't exist. If it wouldn't have been completely counterintuitive I might have thanked him for that. I don't think I could have dealt with another staring contest, especially not after the weird dreams that followed the first.

Most of the lights switch off, the overhead projector comes on, and we're learning about Mendel and his peas.

A page and a half of notes later my pen decides to take the easy way out in the middle of a word.

Shit!

I start drawing continuous oval loops in the margins of my notes, trying to coax the ink into flowing again, but it's a stubborn bastard.

I look around the dark classroom full of hunched, and furiously scribbling students. Mike sits two benches ahead of me, which would make subtle pen-passing difficult, plus getting his attention might be problematic. That girl who sits next to me in math is at the other back bench, but she's kind of a bitch. I doubt that's transferred to her pens, but still...maybe the guy in front of me has an extra. I'm just about to reach out and poke him in the back, when a very pale hand places a pen onto my note page.

I look over quickly, but he's looking down, writing his notes like nothing happened. Should I say thank you? He might look at me if I did that. I really don't want him to look at me. Maybe I should just mutter it when I hand it back, and then leave really quickly. Yeah, that'll work.

I should really carry extra pens.

When the lights come back on at the end of the period it's nearly blinding. By the time I shut my binder and recap his pen, SWCIFD is out the door. I guess it's my pen now. Maybe I'll give it to Jess, she can have it gilded and framed, or something.

00000

"What about this one?" Dad asks, holding up yet another comforter in a plastic package.

"No."

"What's wrong with this one?"

"I'm not a nine-year-old boy," I answer tiredly. We've been doing this a good thirty minutes, but we still haven't found anything. All the comforters here seem to fit under the categories of small child, old lady, or ugly generic motel room. It's getting really frustrating.

He gives it an appraising look.

"It's girly. There's a flower." He points to an amorphous red blob.

"I'm pretty sure that's supposed to be a planet." Mar's misshapen sister, no doubt.

"Oh, yeah. There's a rocket."

"It doesn't look like a rocket," I smirk, before my _talking to a parent_ filter can catch it.

He looks down at it again, and then his eyes go _really_ wide. Shit.

It's a cylindrical yellow rocket, with two engines on either side of the bottom, and the rounded tip seems to be making its way towards a black hole. He's never going to be able to look me in the eye again.

But Dad doesn't go white, or yell, or faint, he starts laughing. He laughs so hard he drops the dirty outer space comforter onto the floor. So, now I'm laughing, and the saleslady who walks past clearly thinks we've lost it, and to be honest I'm not entirely sure we haven't.

"You got that from your mother," he says breathlessly, leaning down to pick up the comforter, and then shoving it back onto the overcrowded shelf.

"What?"

"She always had a dirty mind," he chuckles. Yes, she does, and I have the scarring memories to prove it. Some jokes should not be made at a Parent-Teacher conference.

"What about this one?" He asks again, holding up a purple one with large darker purple flowers on it.

"I like it. Where'd you find it?"

"It was behind a row of the ones with the weird kittens. So, is this the one, or are you going to continue subjecting me to this?"

"That's the one."

"Alright, now we just have to get paint, and a new nightstand."

"And a desk chair that's actually comfortable to sit in."

"God, you're picky." Dad and sarcasm, not a bad mix.

00000

Monday in general is an evil day. It makes you get out of your nice warm bed early in the morning so you can go out into the cold rainy world, and do work. Why does it do this? Because it hates you.

This specific Monday is just plain cruel. All Sunday there was a constant fall of water in its various states; the temperature slide in and out of freezing, causing wild oscillations between rain, sleet and snow, and then, during the night that capped it all off, the temperature dropped and stayed below freezing. So now, on Monday, it's all frozen solid on pretty much every outdoor surface. Today is going to suck.

I manage to get down the front steps alive, but at the first step onto the front walk, I'm on my ass, sliding across a nearly flawless sheet of ice. By the time I come to a stop I can almost touch the front left tire of my truck, which now has chains. I'll have to thank Dad for that later, assuming I make it home.

I try to stand up, and fail many times, before I finally figure out it's not going to work that way. Sliding over to my truck, I grab the slightly icy handle of the driver side door, and pull my ass up. My foot slips, so I end up body-checking the door, of course, but I'm off the ground.

I'm up, I'm in my car, and I am not a happy girl. My ass and side hurt, my pants are wet and cold, and I'm totally going to kill myself on the drive in today. It's a foregone conclusion. There's really nothing I can do about it. Today is the day that I die; I just hope it's quick. Please, let it be quick.

00000

I pull into a parking spot at the end of a row, but even with the snow chains the truck slides forward into the, thankfully empty, spot in front of it. At least now I won't have to back out.

I carefully step down from the cab, and make my way around to the front of my truck.

I'm assessing the expanse of empty, icy pavement between my current position, and the front of the school, when a blue van makes a sharp turn into the row I'm on. The turn's too sharp, and the van starts sliding sideways towards me, I mean right at me, tires screeching as it moves.

I can't believe I was right.

And then my brain just stops.

I'm not hit from the front, and crushed back against my truck hood. The impact comes from the side, knocking me towards the ground.

My body finally reacts, shooting my arm out in front of me, but it gives out under me with a loud crack, and my shoulder slams into the ground. Something heavy lands on top of me, and somehow I end up on my back.

There's the crunch of metal slamming into metal, and the sound of glass shattering, scattering everywhere.

Somebody screams, and I'm almost certain it's not me. The weight is gone, and I try to move, get off my back, but sharp pain shoots through my right arm, making me whimper. Everything's kind of blurry, and my brain refuses to understand what's going on, refuses to let me think. I try to move again, I almost feel like I have to, but the pain is only worse this time. Something lands on my shoulders, pinning me down against the ground. There's a voice that's saying something, possibly to me, but I can't concentrate on it enough to understand what they're saying.

The small amount of light coming down from the sky is blocked out above me, and for a second my attention snaps into focus.

"Can you understand what I'm saying?" he asks forcefully. "You have to keep still."

It's that guy... that guy from the thing. What the hell does he want?

And then everything goes black.

**A/N: **Next chapter: They have an entire conversation in which Bella is drugged, and Edward is pushy. Yeah, he's actually going to have dialogue now.


	6. Bright like the Sun

**A/N: **Beta'd by 13cellardoors and lunaserenade over at lj.

**Bright like the Sun**

"Do you smoke?" my ridiculously young, and well... beautiful doctor asks. If he's over thirty, so am I.

"No." I shake my head slowly as I say it, and it feels like my brain lolls from one side of my skull to the other. I really hate the idea of having something lodged in my vein, but whatever's coming in through the IV is _awesome_.

"Good, don't start while your arm's healing. I mean, you shouldn't start _ever_, but you really shouldn't start now... it's bad for healing bones." He seems nervous. Why would he be nervous? Maybe he's a new doctor, that would explain his age. Maybe he's not a doctor at all; maybe he's an actor practicing for a role... in Forks, because we get lots of actors around here. Maybe he's nervous because he's lying.

"Did my dad ask you to say that?" It comes out slowly, and a little slurred.

He laughs briefly, and that seems to relax him a little. He has a very warm laugh. "No, it's true."

"Huh." I'm still not entirely sure I believe him, but now that I think about it, it's hard for me to imagine him lying. Dr... I've forgotten his name, but he just seems so... honest. It may just be the drugs, though.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and studies his clipboard for a moment, before hesitantly asking, "So, you know Edward?"

"Edward?" Who the hell is Edward?

"Cullen." Edward Cullen, better known as SWCIFD? What does that have to do with...? Dr. _Cullen_... Carlisle _Cullen_. I really should've put that together before now. He doesn't seem like the father of a creepy incestuous family. He's way too young, for one thing. Maybe they weren't children when they were brought together. Well, that's slightly less creepy... I guess.

"Oh! Yeah... we share a microscope." What?! We share a _microscope_? Alright so apparently these drugs are good for pain, bad for the brain. I'm just gonna pretend that didn't rhyme.

He chuckles quietly. "In Biology?"

"Yeah," I laugh awkwardly. Great, now I'm blushing. "My brain doesn't seem to be functioning very well right now."

"Pain meds and the after-effects of anaesthesia, it's an interesting combination." Right, I was under anaesthesia, because I had to have surgery to stick the cracked ends of my fucking _bone_ back into my arm. Dr. Cullen called it a compound fracture. I'm really glad I never actually saw it, because the x-ray was enough to turn my stomach.

I look down forlornly at the purple cast on my right arm. I won't be able to do much with that hand for a while. That's my favourite hand, too.

The doctor's shoe squeaks against the linoleum floor as he shifts again, and then clears his throat. "So, does... does Edward talk to you, at all?"

No, but he made some very interesting eye contact. Real gem you've got there. "Um... I guess... when he has to."

He nods thoughtfully, and looks confused, or maybe worried... or maybe both... kind of frowny, anyway.

"Is that unusual?" I ask uncomfortably. I don't really want to be having this conversation, but the thoughtful pauses are worse, way too quiet.

"No, that's... very normal... for Edward."

So, what's with the frowny, worried confusion? Also, that lip-biting thing he's doing? Embarrassingly distracting.

"I'm a little confused."

"About?"

"If it's normal, why do you seem so...?" I'm not saying frowny to a doctor, even if it is entirely accurate.

"Oh, it's just, um... this is a fairly unusual situation. I thought maybe... I was missing something."

I think _I'm_ missing something.

He looks up, and smiles self-consciously at me. "He doesn't usually... pay attention to people. I'm just trying to understand why he noticed you were... in trouble." What the hell is he talking about?

As soon as I realize his eyes have shifted to my cast it all clicks into place. SWCIFD was there, he... saved me? That can't be right. I'm pretty sure it is, though. He was there, at any rate, leaning over me, holding me down... yelling at me.

_Can you understand what I'm saying? You have to keep still._

Not yelling, he was... commanding. He was... helping, helping _me_. I really need a clear head for this.

"Well, anyway, your dad's just finishing up some paperwork, so I'm sure he'll be back soon." He seems very uncomfortable. If I had a weird son I probably wouldn't want to talk about him either. That was cruel.

"Okay, thanks." I'm pretty sure my smile is just as awkward as his, but it's the effort that counts, right? No, that's the thought... never mind.

"Sure, I'll be back to check in later." He hangs my chart on the end of the bed, gives me a quick smile, and retreats out the door.

I sigh as my head sinks back into the pillows. I can't drive anymore. Fuck.

Images of showing up to school in the cruiser float through my head as my eyes start to slip closed. Maybe if I sleep my brain will start functioning properly again; that would be nice. Sleep is good.

Suddenly I'm jerked back from the precipice of sleep by an angry female voice out in the hall. "What the hell were you thinking?!" That voice sounds familiar.

"Are you _seriously_ mad at me?" That voice _is_ familiar. SWCIFD is here, very goddamn close to my room.

"You could have died!" That's most definitely the blonde woman.

"You are serious, you're _mad_ at me!"

"Alright, alright! This is a hospital, you do _not_ yell in my hospital. Edward did the right thing." So, Dr. Cullen is also there.

"Like hell he did!"

"Rosalie." It sounds almost like a growl. Note to self: don't mess with Dr. Cullen.

"Fine, way to nearly get yourself killed, Edward."

"You know you really don't have to be here," SWCIFD responds, also kind of growly. I bet his jaw's clenched. It has that barely-suppressed-rage sound to it that's normally accompanied by things like that.

Everybody's all growly and angry, and they're talking about me... well, things involving me.

"I don't plan to be much longer," she snaps. There's a pause, and then she sighs loudly. I think it was her, it sounded... feminine. Can a sigh sound feminine? "Are you coming with me?" I bet her jaw's clenched too.

"I'm going to stay."

"You don't have a car!"

"I'll come home with Carlisle."

"You're seriously going to wait around..."

"Rosalie." That's the sound of thin ice right there. The first time it was more of a _this needs to stop now_ message. This time? This time it was straight up _shut the fuck up_.

"I'm going." I can hear her heels click all the way down the hall.

Dr. Cullen says something about the doctor's lounge, and not bogarting the TV, and then two sets of footsteps fade down the hall.

Why is he here? Why is he staying?

"Bells?"

"Hey, Dad." I smile as he hesitantly walks into the hospital room. His hands wrap around the plastic railing on the side of the bed. Apparently somebody thinks I'm likely to roll off. I really appreciate the vote of confidence from this mystery person. I mean, it's not like I've been sleeping in railing-free beds for the last dozen years or so.

"Sorry I wasn't here before. You were sleeping, and they had all these papers for insurance..."

"It's fine. I'm fine. Dr. Cullen said it was a clean break."

His hands flex on the rail, and his lips press tightly together against the emotion that crosses his face.

"I really am fine, Dad. It doesn't even hurt." It doesn't hurt because I'm completely doped up, but that's not the point.

His right hand leaves the rail, and wraps lightly around the part of my hand that's outside the cast, basically my fingers, and a little bit of palm.

"At least it matches your new comforter," he says with a sad, wry smile.

"I am officially colour-coordinated." I squeeze his hand as best I can. It kind of hurts, not the best idea I've had.

"So, did Carlisle tell you they want you to stay for a few days?"

"He mentioned it. Should be fun. There's nothing I like more than being under observation."

"It's just a precaution." He does that sad smile again, and the monitor beeps fluctuate for a second as my heart contracts. As if the whole blushing thing isn't bad enough, now everybody can hear my heartbeat.

"You alright?" He turns towards the door like he's about to call for help, and the beeps stutter again. I really don't want to have to explain _I'm fine, my dad's just making my heart hurt_, especially with him in the room.

"I'm fine, just... I'm fine." Deep breaths. "How's my truck?"

He glances briefly at the jagged lines on the monitor, watching them even out again, before letting himself be distracted.

"The front's a bit crushed, and the windshield's cracked. We'll get it towed up to La Push sometime, and see what Jacob can do." I guess there isn't much of a rush, it's not like I'll be needing it for a while.

"But it's not dead." It's not so much a question, as a statement looking for confirmation.

Remembering the sound of impacting metal and breaking glass makes me shudder. Poor truck, I think I'll name you Steve.

I look up, and realize he's staring at me funny. Is Steve dead?

"What?"

"It's just... if you'd been between them..."

"But I wasn't." I cut him off, quick, and sharp, and then give him a small smile. He takes a deep breath and returns it. I'm actually really glad Mom's not here, she'd be freaking right out. "You didn't call Mom did you?" I ask in panic. There goes the monitor again.

He looks down at the ground and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. "Well..."

Oh shit. "You _told_ her?"

"She had to know, Bells."

"Yes, she had to know, but _after,_ when everything was fine, and there was no reason for her to freak out."

"You should probably call her before she gets on the plane."

"She's coming _here_?"

"Yeah, I've never been very good at keeping your mother calm." No shit.

"Give me a phone," I sigh. I'm not sure I have the brainpower for this at the moment. Deep breaths.

00000

My brain still feels fuzzy when something pulls me out of the light sleep I'd slipped into. One of my eyes opens slightly, so I can make out a pair of green legs near the foot of the bed. Not green legs; green pants on what I assume are normal legs. Clearly the drugs are still flowing pretty freely.

Green pants probably means someone in scrubs, because really, who wears green pants? Actually I think Mom has green pants.

I wait a couple moments, but the legs don't move. Apparently they're waiting for me, or I'm imaging things.

I blink against the harsh fluorescent lighting, and sit up stiffly in the bed to resettle against the raised top. It takes a couple seconds for my eyes to focus, and then I realize... holy shit. SWCIFD is in my room. In _my_ fucking room!

He is in fact wearing green scrubs, and he's got little cuts on his face, neck and arms, as well as a white bandage wrapped around the heel of his left hand. He's staring at me again, in my fucking room.

My heart starts to thump in my chest, and just in case it wasn't completely audible all on its own, the monitor announces it to the room. The blood can't get to my cheeks fast enough. I quickly shoot out my left hand to shut off the machine, and the room falls silent. Except for my thunderous heartbeat, that's still going strong.

I stare at the blank monitor screen for a second, until I work up the courage to look back at him. He's smirking at me, and my cheeks get hotter still. Definitely at stage five now.

"What are you doing here?" I was going more for indignant rather than the choked anxiety that came out, but whatever.

"Came to make sure I didn't waste my time." He's still smirking and staring; both are very annoying.

"What?"

"Well, if you were dead, or something, kind of a waste of a perfectly good afternoon." I can't tell if he's joking, or not. I don't think he is, although he might be. Creasing my forehead in confusion actually hurts a little. Maybe I've got little cuts, too. I suppose all that shattering glass had to go somewhere.

Neither of us say anything for a couple minutes. I'm serious about the minutes thing. It's actually minutes of him staring at me while I try to find something else to look at. There's nothing else to look at.

I can't deal with this anymore.

"Where did you come from?" Yeah, I'll just engage him in a conversation, that'll get rid of him... actually it might get rid of him. He's clearly got some issues with social interactions.

"What?" He seems surprised by the sudden question, a little off-kilter. That makes me smile; attempts to hide that smile fail miserably. Time to focus, though.

"Where were you when the car started sliding?"

His head cocks to the side slightly, and he looks very amused. "I was practically right next to you."

Huh? My forehead creases again, and my look of confusion turns into a grimace.

"I parked one car over from you," he elaborates, still sounding far too amused. Of course he's amused. He's been trying to fuck with me for weeks, and now he's got me drugged, and stuck in a little hospital bed with my heart going nuts.

"I didn't notice that," I mutter. I felt like I should say something.

"Well, my car's a lot quieter than yours was."

"Is."

He tilts his head to the side again, and gives me a funny look.

"Quieter then my car _is_, it's fine... mostly. I can't drive it, but it's fine."

"How are you going to get to school?"

Um... way too personal. Actually, it's not that personal, but it feels like it's too much for him to know about me.

"I don't know."

He nods, eyes shifting away to stare off out the window. "I could drive you."

No! "That's _really_ not necessary," I quickly reply.

"I broke your arm, and now you can't drive, so I'll do it for you... when I can."

Am I missing something here? I feel like I'm missing something... again.

"You didn't break my arm."

"I did," he states calmly. "I pushed you, then landed on you, and your arm broke."

"When you pushed me out of the way of a _van_." What the hell's going on here? _I'm_ defending _him_. The world is officially ass-backwards.

"Yeah, I'm not saying I feel guilty about it, cause it was your arm or... well, probably all the rest of you, but I did break your arm." He shrugs. He _shrugs_, like he just said he misplaced his keys, or something.

"Are you serious?"

"Does it sound funny to you?" I would really like him to stop staring at me right now.

"Not in a humorous way." Oh wonderful, another smirk.

"Ah, well, under normal circumstances I generally come off as more... normal." I beg to differ.

"Oh... good?"

"So, where do you live?"

"What?" I am not going to panic.

"Where do you live? Where do I pick you up?" When he drives me to school in his car, which he will also be in. Crap.

I take a deep breath, and let it out as a sigh.

"I was told never to accept rides from strangers."

"Even when they save your life?" Smooth.

"Nicely executed guilt trip."

"I'm a good driver too."

"I'll think about it," I reply uneasily. I don't particularly want to get into SWCIFD's car, but how exactly do you phrase _I know you saved my life, and hurt yourself in the process, but you scare the hell out of me so I'd rather not be around you, but thanks_ without coming off as ungrateful?

"What did you mean by _when you can_?"

His smirk twists into a grimace, before his face goes neutral. "I don't go to school when it's sunny."

Okay. "Why?"

"I'm photosensitive."

"Like you burn instead of tan?"

One side of his mouth twitches up. "Not exactly, well... sort of, just... more extreme. I'm allergic to sunlight."

Allergic to _sunlight_? How can you be allergic to sunlight? I guess that explains why he's so pale.

"Oh... you _are_ kinda like a vampire." I'm _really_ starting to dislike these drugs.

He laughs bitterly, and replies, "Yeah, I guess I am."

I'm a horrible person. "I'm sorry, I..."

"No, it's alright," he interrupts with a forced smile. "I'm used to it."

_He's the one that looks like a vampire._

I flinch as Mike's words run through my head, the needle in my wrist pinches in retaliation.

"I'm sorry, I didn't... I mean, obviously I don't think you're really a vampire." Yeah, because that's the issue here.

I turn to stare at the heavy grey sky outside the window, trying to collect my drug-scattered thoughts. I really need to pull myself together.

I hear a faint puff of laughter. "It's fine... although if I _was_ a vampire, photosensitivity would be a good cover," he says thoughtfully.

I laugh quietly, and turn back towards him. He's smiling at me. It's not a twitch, or a smirk, it's a full-blown smile, and... okay, maybe Jess does know what she's talking about... a little bit.

His smile is bright like the sun.

Oh wow, I seriously need to get off these pain meds.


	7. Kitchen Supervision, Stubborn Decisions

**A/N: **Beta'd by 13cellardoors and lunaserenade over at lj.

**Kitchen Supervision, Stubborn Decisions, and the Dread Beep **

"Hey, Bella." The tentative greeting pulls my attention away from the little TV on the wall towards the doorway of my hospital room.

"Hey." Random guy from my math class... English class? Pretty sure it's math.... gym?

"Look, I just wanted to say that I'm _really_ sorry. I was supposed to meet Mrs. George, and I was late, so I was rushing. That's not important. I was going _way_ too fast, and... it was irresponsible. I'm sorry. I'm _so_ sorry, Bella."

"Who the hell are you?" That might have been a bit too harsh.

"Oh, I'm Tyler. We have history together." Wasn't even close.

"Okay, and what are you apologizing for, Tyler?"

"Nearly, you know... killing you."

"You were driving the van?" I had a dream about that van last night. I've been thinking about it a lot while awake too, but I'd never considered that someone would have been _in_ the van. I suppose vans don't drive themselves.

"Yeah... sorry." He's got little cuts too, and a set of stitches on his forehead. I bet he was just as scared inside the van as I was outside it.

"That's okay, just... be careful."

"Yeah, I will."

"Good." You can go now.

He doesn't leave though, he just stands there awkwardly. His eyes restlessly shift around the room, taking in the white walls, white ceiling, white floor, white curtains, like it's the goddamn Versailles of hospital rooms.

"Was there something else?" I prompt. It comes out pretty rude. I don't really care, though. People I don't even know keep showing up from school, and hanging around. Like it's not bad enough having a steady stream of strange teenagers in a room in which I'm in bed in a paper dress thing, if you can even call it _that_, but they also insist on giving me awkward platitudes. It's getting really fucking annoying.

"Well, I was thinking... if you need a ride to school... I could maybe drive you?"

Are you fucking kidding me?

"Um... no offence, but I'd rather avoid the combination of you and cars for the time being." Or forever.

"Yeah, no, I understand."

"Thanks, though."

"Sure." Seriously you can go anytime, buddy. Once again, he doesn't move. Maybe it would help if I told him to leave out loud.

"So, I'll see you at school?" But the passive-aggressive equivalent should work fine.

"Yeah, I'll see you."

"Bye."

I really need to get out of this hospital. I need to get home, to my own room, where doors lock, and people have to knock before standing near my bed. Better yet I need to find a hole to crawl into and never come out again. Yeah, that'd work well too.

00000

"Bella, put down the spatula." Crap.

"I'm perfectly capable of flipping chicken, Jake," I snap back. I am _seriously_ sick of this shit.

"Bella..." The hint of warning sounds playful, but I know he's not really kidding. He's taking the responsibility my father gave him way too seriously. That responsibility being, to keep me from doing basically _anything_.

"I'm not going to let the chicken burn, just because you insist on doing everything. Finish the salad."

"It's not going to burn."

"Yes it is! You don't know how to cook chicken."

"I cook it all the time."

"And you always burn it!" He can scowl at me all he wants, but he knows it's true.

"Give me the spatula," he commands, holding out his hand for it.

"No."

"Bella, if I have to take it from you I will, and if your stitches get ripped again, you'll have to go back to the hospital, and your dad may never let you go back to school." Son of a bitch.

"Goddamn kitchen tyrant," I mutter petulantly, before pushing the black plastic spatula into his hand, and crossing my good arm over my chest. It probably looks kind of stupid with just the one arm, but the sentiment's still there.

"Thank you," he says, really fucking smugly. He puts the utensil down by the stove, and then before I can even react he's lifted me by the waist and set me on the counter.

"Jake!"

"Yes, Bella?" As soon as I get off this counter, I'm going to kill him.

"How the hell am I supposed to get down?" With only one usable, though partially damaged, hand, and _my_ legs, I'll fall right on my face if I try on my own.

"I suppose you'll have to ask."

"Get me down." Apparently it's not just the Cullens that can growl.

"Firstly, that wasn't asking. Secondly, I'm not getting you down until dinner is done, and all the pointy objects have been put away." And then the bastard pats me on the head. Sadly attempts to make his head explode with my eyes yield no results, but the second he steps within range I do manage to kick him just below the knee. That makes me feel a little better.

I glumly watch him mess around in _my_ kitchen, _my_ happy place, and silently curse Jacob, and my dad, and Carlisle while I'm at it. Why not, right?

Anyway, this is what happened:

I ended up staying in the hospital for three days and two nights. I finally got out mid-afternoon on Wednesday. That night was fine, we ordered out.

Thursday I stayed home. I tried to make dinner. It was nothing fancy, it wasn't even anything cooked. It was just sandwiches. In the process of slicing a tomato I somehow managed to slice open the palm of my left hand. I threw up in the sink from the smell of the blood, and then gagged my way through a call to Jess, asking her to drive me to the hospital. I then sat in the emergency room while Dr. Cullen laughed his ass off at me for a good three minutes. Very professional.

Eventually he managed to compose himself, by which I mean his mouth was perpetually set in a tight line, in an attempt to hold back the laughter that occasionally escaped in the form of a small chuckle. Dad showed up, banned me from the kitchen unless supervised, and took me home.

Friday morning I woke up groggy, and for some reason brought my right arm up towards my head. I bashed myself on the forehead with my cast really hard, and yelled something along the lines of "Motherfucking bastard" so loud that I actually woke up Dad. That says some very impressive things about my vocal projection abilities. I explained what happened, he laughed, and I eventually convinced him that I did not need to go back to the hospital to be checked for a concussion.

Less than half an hour later I tripped over my own foot on my way down the stairs, and ripped my stitches when I grabbed the railing to keep from falling. Dr. Cullen laughed at me for a good five minutes this time, and told me to call him Carlisle. I could think of some other things to call him, but I kept them to myself.

So, now it's Wednesday, and the earliest I can hope to get back to school is Monday, if I'm lucky. Dad's gotten it into his head that I'm going to accidentally kill myself, and I'm almost certain he seriously considered pulling me from school till the cast comes off. On the plus side this delayed return to school means I'll experience one less week of being in SWCIFD's car twice a day. That's got to count for something, I guess.

"Hello?" Angie calls out from the front hall. I didn't even hear the door open.

"In the kitchen!"

"I thought you weren't allowed in the kitchen," Mike comments teasingly.

I scowl at the spot on the wall I imagine he's on the other side of, and Jake laughs.

"It's alright, I'm supervising."

"Hey, Jacob," Angie greets setting a heavy-looking tote bag on the kitchen table.

"Hey."

"Did you bring me something good?" I ask with forced enthusiasm, eyeing the bag.

"I've got a worksheet on the treaty of Versailles I'm sure you'll just love. Aside from that there're notes on Pride and Prejudice, math questions, and Bio chapters to read."

"I'm sure that'll keep me busy for a while, at least. Are you guys sticking around?"

"I've got to get to work in a few," Mike says from his position leaning against the doorjamb. He doesn't seem to like how comfortable Jake is here; it always gets a little awkward when they're both around.

"He's my ride."

"I can drive you," Jake offers, flipping the chicken, _finally_.

"You don't have a license," I say, trying to fight the urge to jump down and rescue the poultry.

"Yeah, turns out that doesn't mean you _can't_ drive, it just means you're not _supposed_ to."

"I'm sure my dad will appreciate the difference."

"I drive all the time. I drove down here just fine on my own."

"Your choice," I say to Angie.

"That's fine with me." She takes her heavy coat off, putting it over the back of a chair, and then takes a seat.

"Alright, I should get going, but I'll see you soon," Mike says pointing at me.

"Bye."

"Thanks, Mike."

"See ya, Mikey," Jake calls, voice smug like he just won something.

"Eric wanted me to ask you if you needed a ride on Monday," Angie says with a little smile after the front door shuts.

Oh, come on! I've already turned down Tyler, _and_ Mike, don't these people talk to each other? I've been trying very hard to avoid this conversation around Jake, and my dad. I really don't think they're going to like my answer.

I'm trying to think of something vague to say when the smoke detector above the door goes off, and high pitched warning noises fill the kitchen.

"Did you light something on fire?" I yell to Jake over the noise.

He shakes his head, and starts flapping a tea towel in front of the detector. Eventually enough of the smoke has been dispersed, and the kitchen goes quiet.

"It was just smoke," Jake says. "I guess I burned the chicken."

"Imagine that." He just laughs. Attempt number two at killing Jake with my glare fails just as miserably as the first.

"So, what should I tell Eric?"

"Why didn't he ask me himself?"

"He doesn't want you to know he's asking unless you need a ride."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing he recruited you then," I laugh.

"Yeah, I'm a real master of subterfuge." Over the last couple days of after-school visits I've learned something new about Angie. If you get her away from Jess, Mike, and Eric, it's possible to engage her in an entire conversation. Sometimes she even talks about herself. And I've learned something new from that, I _really _like her.

"I can tell. You've clearly got some real skills."

"So...?"

I sigh, and quickly glance at Jake. He doesn't appear to be listening, but I'm sure he isn't really as engrossed in cutting peppers as he seems to be.

"I've already got a ride, actually."

"With who?" Jake casually asks, never taking his eyes off the cutting board.

"Um... the guy who pushed me out of the way of the van wanted to do it." Please don't know who that is.

He seems to know exactly who I'm talking about though, because his hand freezes midslice, and his shoulders get tense. He carefully sets the knife down, and turns towards me.

"The guy who got you out of the way?"

"Yeah."

"Wasn't that Edward Cullen?" Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

"Um... yeah."

"Edward Cullen is coming _here_ to pick you up every day? You're getting in his car?"

"Only until I can drive again."

His eyes narrow suddenly, and he asks, "Does Charlie know about this?"

Angie shoots me an apologetic, slightly confused smile, and I force a smile back.

"No, it hasn't really come up." Mostly because I've been avoiding the topic like the plague, but none the less.

"You have to tell him." The _...so he can stop you_ part goes unsaid, but I think we all hear it loud and clear.

"I will," I grit out.

"Tonight."

I sigh again, and reluctantly mutter, "I will." He gives me a hard look, so I repeat with more emphasis, "I will!"

"Good, because if you don't, _I_ will."

00000

"Fajitas are good."

"I didn't make them, Dad. You don't have to lie."

He looks at his dinner thoughtfully for a moment, and then asks, "Why do they taste funny?"

"I don't know." I can't stop the laughter that bubbles up. Flashes of dinners full of mystery ingredients flood my brain, especially the spinach, cashew, soya sauce, ham monstrosity that motivated me to take over the kitchen duties, and inform Mom that she was no longer welcome near the stove _ever again_. Poor Phil, he had no idea what kind of a cook he was marrying. Hopefully they eat out a lot.

I miss her.

"So... I want to go back to school on Monday."

"Bella..."

"I know you're worried about me, but... I have nothing to do here, and even with Angie bringing me my school work I'm still missing lessons. The longer I stay home the harder it'll be to catch up." He sighs, and I can tell he's wavering, but it's not enough. Time to go for the jugular. "These grades go to universities too. If they fall I might not be able to make up for it next year."

I've been holding onto that one, hoping I wouldn't have to use it, but he's proven himself to be just as stubborn as I am. If there's one thing that'll force him to overcome his overprotectiveness, it's the idea of harming my future. I don't feel as bad about using it as I should, I'm sure.

"Do you need me to drive you in?" he asks quietly, and I make a really embarrassing squealing noise. Who'd have thought I'd ever be excited to go back to school? That's just so wrong.

Now for the _really_ tricky part. "No, I already have a ride."

"Anybody I know?" All too well, I would think.

"The guy that _saved me_ offered to drive me." I may have put a bit too much emphasis on _saved me_, but it's the important part. That is, after all, the only reason I'm even considering his offer.

Dad freezes much the same way Jake did, except he looks more shocked then angry. I've never mentioned SWCIFD to Dad like I have to Jake. He has no reason to believe I know better, but I do. Fat lot of good that's doing me.

"Edward Cullen offered to drive you?" Yup, definitely shock.

"Yeah," I answer with a shrug. "I guess he feels guilty about my arm, or something."

"No."

"That's what he said." I'm not making shit up here.

"That's not what I meant. He's not driving you anywhere." The rational part of my brain knows I should be happy right now. I have an excuse. I can call SWCIFD, and tell him my dad said no. End of story. I never have to see the interior of his car, and I can call up Mike instead.

The other part of my brain, the stupid, irrational, stubborn part, bristles at what is obviously a command. I decided he could drive me, so he will. God, I'm a moron.

"What do you mean _no_?"

"I mean, under no circumstances are you to anywhere near his car, or him for that matter."

"You can't just order me."

"I'm your father."

"The only reason you're still a father is because of him." He flinches, but I'm too angry to feel guilty right now.

"Bella, one thing, one _amazingly_ good thing, doesn't change who he is."

"What do you think he's going to do? Kill me, and leave my corpse by the side of the highway? He may be many kinds of messed up, but I don't think he's that kind. He's not stupid either. He's not going to do something when everyone would know it was him."

"Bella..."

"Dad, he saved my life. If he wants to drive me to school, he can drive me to school. Hell, if he wants me to do his schoolwork for him... I mean he'd have to wait until I got my right hand back, but it still seems pretty fair."

Very possibly the longest awkward pause in the history of the universe descends on our kitchen.

He sighs loudly, and pushes his plate away from him. "If he does anything, even if he just makes you uncomfortable, I want you to tell me."

"I will." Uncomfortable is a given, but if SWCIFD pushes it I will stop this, life-saver or not.

Why did it have to be him?

00000

In Phoenix I used to lie at the end of my bed, in the slanted square of sunlight falling in through the window, and let my mind wander. It's not the same here. The dull grey light that's coming in through the window has none of the warmth of _real_ sunlight, and the constant uneven tapping of rain on the roof isn't conducive to the same dreamlike state. I still try. I've got nothing else to do, but the restless boredom I feel lying here makes my arm ache.

I've been trying to imagine living without the sun. I suppose, for the majority of the year, the people of Forks, and surrounding areas do live without it, but it's different. He can't even enjoy the few sunny days there are, he has to hide from them. Much like he did my first day. Was he out of school because he got burned? Was it serious?

Which brings me to other SWCIFD-related topics, such as the fact that it's Saturday, and I have to call him about Monday. Maybe he's changed his mind. Maybe I'll call, and he won't even remember what I'm talking about, or he'll have written his number down wrong, and I won't be able to call him. What a tragedy that would be.

With a sigh, that I'll admit is a little overdone, I get up, and dig the slip of paper with his number on it out of my bag, before making my way downstairs to the phone.

"_Hi, you've reached Edward Cullen's phone." _Except it isn't him, it's a bubbly female voice._ "He can't answer right now, but if you leave your name, number, and..."_

"_Alice, what are you doing?" _That's his voice. I really hate that I know that.

"_None of your business."_

"_That's _my_ phone."_

There's an exasperated sigh, and then some weird noises like they're wrestling for it. What the fuck kind of a message is this?

"_You need a proper message!"_

"_People know what to do at the beep. It's not fucking rocket science!"_

"_... and leave a message at the beep."_ She says it quickly. I don't think she's winning.

"_I'm just going to delete it."_

"_Well, then I'll just have to do it again, and again, and again, until you give up."_

There's a long pause.

I'm starting to think maybe I missed my cue, and I'm supposed to be talking now, when I hear, _"Here comes the beep."_ She practically sings it. You can hear the triumph in her voice.

I kind of panic when it finally does beep. I should have come up with some kind of a plan, at least a general idea of what I was going to say. Bit late for that now, I guess.

"Um... this is Bella... with the arm thing. Um, I'm back at school on Monday, so if you still want to drive me, which you _really_ don't have to, I mean I can get another ride pretty easily... so, it's not really necessary for you to... come here, but... um... if you want to... I guess Monday..." And then the machine cut me off. That's probably for the best, that thing was a mess.

Maybe I should call again, and leave a coherent message. Screw it, he'll get the gist.

So that's basically my entire checklist for the day done.

I end up wandering around the house, looking for some hidden interesting activity that's somehow eluded me until now. I don't find anything, unless your idea of interesting is an old Yahtzee set without any dice - hours of entertainment right there. I do, however, spot my truck sitting in the driveway out the living room window.

It's still raining, so I throw a coat over my cast, grab my keys, and make a careful run for it. It's just enough above freezing to make it rain instead of snow, but it's still frigid out. Putting _on_ the coat probably would have been a good idea.

The door slams shut with a creek. I run my usable hand, the one that's not wrapped in plaster anyway, around the steering wheel, and relax back in my seat.

The rain outside goes from a drizzle to an all-out downpour, pounding against the metal frame. Water splatters on the windshield, and runs in rivulets through the dents and furrows of the crumpled parts of the front hood. The big crack on the passenger side of the windshield is sealed up with duct tape, keeping the water on the outside. Steve, you've looked better.

I've never wanted a lot out of life. I don't want fame or fortune, popularity, or even a boyfriend. I only want simple things, like the ability to do things for myself. Such as cooking, driving, writing, I'd even settle for being able to carry things properly. You never realize how many things you need two hands for until you've only got one to work with. It's a lesson I feel I could have done without.

The part that bothers me most about all this is not being able to drive, not just because of the alternative I've ended up with, but mostly because I _love_ to drive. Unlike cooking, it's something I do just for me. Plus, I love Steve.

He's not new, or sleek, and he's definitely not quiet. He rumbles and hums so much you can feel the vibrations through the seats, the steering wheel, and the floor. You can hear him for miles, and all the hinges squeak and groan. The cab smells vaguely of cigarettes, and some kind of aftershave, or cologne. When the vents are open the smell gets even stronger. It reminds me of my grandfather - the smell not the rumbling. It's comforting.

I lean my forehead against the top of the steering wheel, and breathe deeply. The scent washes through me, and I can feel my shoulder relax. Then SWCIFD's face from my stare-right-down-into-my-soul dream pops into my head... who wants to be relaxed, anyway?

I sit up, and place my hand on the dashboard. "I'm gonna miss you."

I'm pretty sure my ability to strongly connect to inanimate objects is more than a little sad. One of the many reasons I keep these things to myself. Even my mother didn't know that I'd named her car, and the stove back in Phoenix, and I tell her everything.

I'm making my way back to the house through the rain when I hear the phone ringing in the kitchen. I dash up the front stairs, and run down the hall, causing water droplets to fly everywhere.

"Shit! Shit!" How many rings did I miss? If it's Mom, and I miss her call, she may be on a plane before I can call her back. I barely talked her off a flight the first time; if I miss one of her multiple daily calls, I won't have a chance.

"Hello?" I pant out, leaning against the wall by the phone.

"I'll pick you up at 8:30." And then the call ends.

So much for a last-minute reprieve.

**A/N:** Next chapter starts Monday at 8:30 sharp, and I promise there will be lots of SWCIFD.


	8. Playboy Bunnies and the Dichotomy of

**A/N: **Beta'd by 13cellardoors and lunaserenade over at lj.

**Playboy Bunnies and the Dichotomy of Apples**

After a solid week of waking up at nine-thirty at the earliest, seven-thirty seems much earlier then I remember. That's probably why I barely managed to drag my ass out of bed at eight this morning, half an hour after my alarm went off.

It's now eight-twenty-nine... shit, eight-thirty, and I'm frantically running around my room trying to gather all my stuff together with one hand. Rummaging through the piles of loose paper on my desk, I look out the window.

He's here.

SWCIFD is leaning on the side of his car in front of my house... and he's totally looking at me right now. I guess I can't pretend I'm not home. Fuck.

I shove my notebook into the tote bag I'm using as a backpack, because two-shoulder straps are not going to work right now, and rush downstairs. Well, maybe _rush_ is a bit strong, it's more like I move as quickly as my body will go knowing what, or maybe I should say who, I'm going towards.

I exhale slowly before opening the front door, and then all that's between us is a short expanse of damp concrete. Mondays really do suck.

He doesn't react to my presence until I'm almost at the sidewalk, and then he leans forward and over to reach the door handle, swinging it open towards him. Right, I guess I have to get in the car now.

Why exactly didn't I accept Dad's refusal to allow this? Oh, right, because I'm a moron, a stubborn moron who was already pretty fucking fed up with people telling me what to do when I brought it up. Probably could have gone about that better.

I duck into the car, settling back against the black leather seat without looking at him. He rounds the hood of the car to get to the driver's side.

What if he _is_ the kill-you-and-leave-the-body-by-the-side-of-the-highway type? He's clearly got social issues, and he doesn't seem to like people, plus there's the creepy. Not conclusive evidence for a psychopath, sure, but for all I know he kills small animals in his spare time. Figures it'd be a Monday.

He gets in, and starts the engine. Doesn't this car make any noise? I bet it'd be great for stalking people. Maybe that's why he bought it. Okay, seriously, internal monologue: shut the fuck up.

"Um..." I start hesitantly. He turns towards me with a questioning look. Right... I did promise... promises need to be kept. "My dad... he wanted me to inform you that he has guns, and he can bury you in a place they'll never find you."

If Dad says the phrase "Will you just promise me one thing?" again, I'm not agreeing until I know what it is.

SWCIFD stares at me blankly for a couple moments, and then one side of his mouth twitches up, almost against his will.

"I see... and what am I suppose to do with this information, exactly?" _Not_ kill me.

"He didn't give me specifics."

He nods absently, and then smiles. "Alright then.... well, if I go missing one day, and people start asking

questions, tell them I ran off to the tropics with a Playboy Bunny."

"A Playboy Bunny that just happened to be hanging around in Forks?"

"Obviously I would have met her somewhere else, like Seattle."

"Why would she be in Seattle?"

"I don't know... coffee... visiting family. I'm not asking you to be specific."

"Okay, but... the _tropics_, really?"

"What's wrong with the tropics?"

"What are _you_ gonna do in the tropics?" Is that rude? I think that was rude.

The offended/angry reaction I'm expecting doesn't show up though. He smiles at me... what the fuck?

"I can night swim." He's still smiling.

"Alright, but imaginary you is gonna get _really_ bored sitting around inside all day."

"That's what the Bunny's for." And the smile morphs into a smirk.

"Lovely."

"What? It's not like I'm an old dude with _multiple_ Bunnies."

"If you're going for relative judgements, you should probably be looking at the other end of the spectrum."

"Why would I do that? That would make me look like an asshole." Kinda my point.

"Which you're not?"

He chuckles lightly, before saying, "That doesn't mean I want to look like one."

"You should probably work harder on that." And now I'm smirking.

He just smiles wider. His hand goes to the keys in the ignition, and he seems surprised to find that the car is already running.

He smoothly pulls away from the curb, and starts down the street. The car keeps going faster and faster, barely even slowing to turn the corner at the end of my street.

My left hand shoots across my body to brace myself against the door as he takes the corner. This is kind of terrifying.

"Alright, you drive _really_ fast."

"But well," he replies calmly, like he's not whipping through the small streets of Forks like a NASCAR driver.

"So you've never crashed?" Once it's out of my mouth I realize I _really_ don't want to know. That's the kind of thing you ask a person _before_ you get in their car. Of course I was so busy wondering if he was going to kill me, or possibly stare at me intensely for an awkward amount of time, that I didn't really give a lot of thought to his actual driving.

"Only once, and I was thirteen so that totally doesn't count."

"Thirteen?" I squeak, squeezing my eyes shut as he takes another corner without nearly enough decrease in speed. Apparently that's a really bad idea, because with my eyes closed all I can see is an image of his shiny silver hood slamming into another car. I snap my eyes open, but it's not much better.

"Driving seemed like fun. I wanted to try it." He shrugs slightly, speeding up to pass a blue Honda.

"And your dad let you?"

"Um... not exactly."

"You _stole_ a car?"

"I _borrowed_ Carlisle's car... without his permission. Actually, it was Esme's car, but Carlisle was the one who reported it stolen. He was also the one who admitted me to the hospital when I subsequently crashed it into a tree." He chuckles, like it's a fond memory instead of a possibly deadly incidence of auto theft. "But I was fine," he hastily adds, apparently just realizing that stories of crashing cars and hospital care aren't particularly comforting to the person in his passenger seat.

Why did I do this to myself?

The rest of the ride is spent in silence with me working very hard to keep from flinching every time I see any sort of movement on the other side of the windshield.

He finally slows down when he pulls into the parking lot, but the students ambling between the rows of cars are still pretty quick to get out of his way. It'd be kind of funny if I didn't think he might actually hit someone.

My back and shoulders protest as I move to get out of the car, probably from being tensed up the entire way to school. Experiencing this twice a day, five days a week, is going to give me a nervous breakdown.

I'm contemplating how to phrase _for the sake of my mental health I think I need to ride with someone else_ without coming off as weak, or possibly crazy, when an engine guns somewhere behind me.

I may not know shit about cars, but I know that is _not_ the sound of the average Forks students' roughly used, second-hand engine. And it definitely isn't.

I don't know exactly what it is, but it's a red, shiny convertible, and very possibly the most ostentatious thing I've ever seen. The engine guns again, and the gawking boys in the middle of the lane quickly scatter to the margins by the other cars.

There's a huff sound to my right, and I turn to see SWCIFD scowling at the red car as it pulls into a spot a row over from us. Immediately the small black-haired girl, presumably the bubbly voiced Alice, jumps out of the backseat. Her boyfriend quickly follows suit, swinging his legs over the side as the roof starts to go up.

Once Rosalie's out of the driver's seat she straightens her clothes, and turns to glare at me. It's a little surprising, considering this is the first time I know of that she's looked at me, although if that's how she looks at people, I'm definitely not complaining.

"She really doesn't like me, does she?" I didn't actually mean to ask that, it just sort of... came out.

"No."

"Is there a reason behind that, or...?" I let it trail off. I'm not sure how well _or is your sister just being a bitch? _would go down with him.

"Well, you exist. That's generally enough for her." Okay, so I'm thinking option two would have gone down pretty well.

"Oh."

"Yeah, just ignore her... it's very effective."

He almost seems normal this morning. Maybe he hit his head when he pushed me out of the way. That might explain his change of behaviour, like how he suddenly speaks, jokes, and smiles in the presence of people who aren't his family. Jess'll be thrilled.

"Bella!" The words reach me seconds before the impact. Arms wrap tightly around my shoulders as I stumble backwards a few steps, miraculously I manage to stay on my feet.

"Jessica!" Angie scolds, running towards us with Mike at her side.

"Jess?" She pulls away to look me in the eye.

"I'm really glad you're here," she mutters with an anxious smile. Is _everybody_ weird today? If this is some real life version of invasion of the body snatchers I give up right now. I can't pull off a blank expression to save my life.

"Sorry, I tried to stop her," Angie pants, stopping a few feet away. SWCIFD is now staring at me, or possibly Jessica... probably Jessica, like she just... well, like she just tried to take a person down with a hug.

"Are you alright?" Mike asks, glaring at SWCIFD like _he_ just tried to tackle-hug me.

"I'm fine."

"I didn't hurt her," Jess says defensively, rubbing my upper right arm a little too roughly. "I just wanted to say hi."

"Hi?"

"Hey," she replies. The sideways glance towards SWCIFD gives her away, though. I attempt to hide my amusement, as she tries to casually address the object of her obsessive affections. "Hey, Edward." It's flawlessly casual, except for the hitch in the middle of his name.

He nods curtly in response, his blank gaze directed somewhere over her shoulder. His eyes swing over her to settle on me, before he stiffly says, "I'll meet you back here after the bell."

Apparently my social-skill-inducing brain damage theory was a little pre-emptive.

"Okay," I agree quietly as he starts to walk away. SWCIFD walks directly towards Mike, bearing down on him till he hops out of the way. Mike mumbles curses under his breath about stuck up bastards with pansy-ass cars.

Jess sighs, watching SWCIFD walk across the lot towards his family, and then her attention suddenly snaps to me.

"Did he talk to you?"

"What?"

"Edward, did he talk to you?" She's squeezing my upper arms so hard I think they're going to bruise. She's kind of freaking me out right now.

"I guess."

"What did he say? Tell me _everything_." She shakes me slightly to emphasize her words.

"He likes to night swim?" I don't think that could've been more random if I tried.

"What?"

"I don't know. It was a weird conversation." I shoot a desperate look at Angie and Mike.

"Hey, maybe we should get to class," Mike says, putting a hand on Jess's shoulder.

"Alright," she huffs, and then her voice brightens, "we can talk in English." Shit.

She practically skips off, dragging Angie along behind her. Mike grins at me, lifting my bag off my shoulder.

"Wha...?"

"I'm carrying it for you. Don't start with me."

"Fine." I glance quickly over towards the shiny red car. The girl presumed to be Alice is clutching at SWCIFD much the same way Jess did to me, while he looks up towards the sky in what appears to be a strong attempt to ignore her.

00000

"You have to be _specific_, Bella," Jess hisses in frustration. I think she's trying to use me as a vicarious way to have contact with SWCIFD.

"I don't know what you want me to say. We really didn't talk that much." I really don't feel like giving a play-by-play of our conversation. I feel like it's... sort of... _mine_, which is really stupid... obviously. Plus I don't want to feed her SWCIFD torch, or whatever, and... you know...

What the fuck is wrong with my brain today? I'm starting to think I've already been taken over by the body snatchers. The first stage is your brain going funny, and then the next thing you know you're cultivating pods, or whatever happened in that movie. I fell asleep halfway through.

"But what did he say when you _did_ talk?"

"Mostly he was just facetious."

"What?"

"He was joking."

"Oh... is he funny?"

"I guess," I mumble with a shrug.

I turn forwards in my seat, hoping she'll get the hint, and let it go.

"Did he tell you jokes, or was it more of a quips type of humour?"

I am so screwed.

00000

I wonder if chocolate milk is still good for you. I suppose the presence of chocolate doesn't automatically negate the existence of the calcium and stuff. At least I don't think it does. It might have less calcium, though.

"Bella," Mike huffs in annoyance next to me.

"Hmm." I haven't had chocolate milk since I was... I don't know... young. I'm not sure if that's a positive or a negative though.

"You're taking forever."

"You don't have to wait for me. I'll be over in a minute."

"Are you sure, with the tray and stuff?"

"I'm slightly broken, not feeble."

"Alright," he reluctantly says, slowly backing away from the food counter.

Plain milk is probably best. The fact that I'll be drinking milk with a straw is going to make me feel childish enough.

Picking up my tray one-handed, I turn away from the counter, but the flimsy plastic is unbalanced, and starts quickly dipping to the right. I let out a noise embarrassing like a squeak, and stick my cast underneath the right side of the tray. It stops the entire thing from falling, but my apple is already toppling over the side towards the floor, and I can only watch it fall.

A hand swipes through the air catching it almost halfway to the ground. I look up in surprise to see SWCIFD standing next to me.

"Do you make a habit of popping up out of nowhere?" Seriously, where the hell does this guy come from?

"Spontaneity is an integral part of my personality. That, and being an asshole. It's a combination." I'm thinking it's more asshole.

"Well...thanks." Give me back my apple.

"You're welcome, Isabella."

"Bella," I automatically correct.

"Bella," he repeats with a slight nod, and a crooked smile.

It's a lot brighter in here than in the back of the Bio room, and I'm on a lot less drugs then I was at the hospital, I can see him clearer now. His eyes are an intensely vivid green, like the oversaturated flora of Forks, and his brown... bronze hair's really shiny, and messy... in a good way. This is getting weird. Creepy cancels out cute.

I bet this is how cult leaders get people. They start out all creepy, crazy cult guy, and then all of a sudden they're smiling at you, being all... charming, and then you end up living on a weird-ass commune, plotting how to kill people. That is _so_ not gonna happen.

"You know I've never understood the dichotomy of apples."

"What?" I follow his eyes down to the perfect dark red apple still being held by his long pale fingers.

"Well, you've got the _an apple a day keeps the doctor away _side, where apples are good... healthy, they make you happy in that they keep away doctors, and really who likes doctors? Then there's the other side. The bad, forbidden part you're supposed to avoid. Adam and Eve get royally screwed, and Snow White chokes to semi-death, but the first couple finally get a little intelligence, and Snow White meets her prince, _and_ gets revenge. One can only assume they're trying to tell us that forbidden things are good for us in the end."

Okay then. "I don't think that's what they were going for." I have no idea who _they_ are, but I still strongly doubt that's the moral they were trying to get across.

"You're right, it was probably unconscious. People tend to repress things when they don't fit with what they _think_ they know." He's doing that intense eye contact thing to me again. I really hate when he does that.

"Maybe you're over-thinking this. Maybe it's just an apple."

He cocks his head to the side thoughtfully, before replying, "I don't think so, but I may be under-thinking that. I'll have to think about it."

His eyes shift back down to the apple.

"You do that. Can I have my apple back now?"

"Sure." He places it carefully onto my tray, and then leans forward, almost conspiratorially. "You should tell your friends not to stare, it's rude." He smirks, and casually walks away.

I turn slowly, and... yeah, my entire table, and quite a few other people, are staring. Great. Just fucking _great_.

I keep my eyes trained to the ground to avoid meeting anyone's gaze as I make my way to my usual spot.

"What was that about?" Mike asks as I carefully slide my tray onto the table.

"What?"

"You were talking to vamp boy."

I grimace at the disdain behind his words, and shrug. Hell if I know. "He caught my apple."

"See, he's very sweet," Jess says. I think that might be pushing it.

"At the very least he's got great reflexes." And the personality to be a very promising cult leader.

I'm not fond of my first name. I've always felt it was overly formal, needlessly flowery. It's almost like the name is too big for me. Isabella is a name for queens and truly beautiful women. It dwarfs me, showing exactly what I'm not. It sounded different when he said it though... it didn't sound as silly as it normally does, like it _fit_ me.

Screw body snatchers, I think I've got brain damage. I should go see Carlisle again, although I'm not sure what I'd say when he asked why I wanted another scan. I think _I like the way your son says my name, and I'm pretty sure that's a sign of some serious damage_ would probably be a very efficient way to find out if Forks Hospital has a psych ward.

"Hey, Bella," Tyler says nervously, dropping down into a seat on the other side of the table next to Mike. Apparently _I'll see you at school_ was the wrong way to get rid of him. He seems nice enough though.

"Hey, Tyler." Angie looks amused, Mike and Eric look put out, and Jess isn't paying attention at all. She's staring off at the other end of the room, no doubt right at Scary Weird Creepy-Incestuous-Family Dude while he eats lunch with his creepy incestuous family.

I get that he's gorgeous, but seriously, he barely even acknowledges her presence. I think she needs an intervention. Do people give interventions for obsessive unrequited crushes? Are there people that specialize in curing teenage girls of their infatuations? If there are I bet they're millionaires.

I glance over at his table just as his head is turning in my direction, and our eyes meet. It's still intense, but not as... intimidating, like he's not trying to fuck with me. I have no idea what he is trying to do, but I don't think it has to do with scaring the hell out of me, at least not anymore. Maybe he figures having a large van coming straight at you is enough fear for one lifetime, I certainly think it is.

"Bella?" Angie calls, poking my shoulder.

"What?" I jerk slightly at the unexpected contact, and pull my eyes away from him to look at Angie.

"What are you going to do about gym?" From the way she says it, it sounds like she's repeating herself. I guess I zoned out.

"What do you mean?" She pointedly looks down at my cast.

Oh my God! They can't make me do gym for two months. Two months without having to apologize to classmates for accidental injuries, two months without going to the nurse's office for icepacks and Ace bandages, two months without the guilt of costing my friends and teammates the game, because I'm a complete spaz when it comes to sports.

I feel like my face is splitting in two from my smile, and I giggle. Actually fucking _giggle_ in front of people, and I couldn't care less.

The realization that I won't have to take notes of the slide-heavy Bio lectures anymore quickly follows. This also makes me happy, maybe not giggle-happy, but still pretty damn happy.

All the guys at the table are staring at me funny now, but they seem to do that a lot, so whatever.

Turning my attention back to my lunch, I stare at the apple sitting in the corner of my tray as I eat my sandwich. It's weird now. He made my apple weird. I wanted that apple.

It's perfect; all flawless, smooth skin with a deep, dark red colour.

He took this ridiculously perfect apple, and turned it into some sort of weird symbol that will, no doubt, be adopted by the cult he will eventually start. Maybe Jess can be one of his wives. He can rename her Macintosh. Her, Granny Smith, and Golden Delicious can teach his weird kids all about Snow White when they explain why they're all named after fruit, and they live on an apple orchard in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Maybe being admitted to that psych ward would be a good thing. Seriously, I need help.

00000

"...He was all like 'I don't care, do it if you want it done', so I'm like, 'I'm not doing your part of the project, jackass,' and he says, 'Well, I'm certainly not going to do it,' so I gave him the finger, and told Mrs. Garrison I wasn't working with him. If he thinks he's getting credit for my work he's seriously wrong." Mike's leaning against the side of my Bio table, arms gesturing wildly while his voice gets increasingly energetic.

"Sounds like a dick."

"Oh, he totally is," he agrees enthusiastically. "I mean, did he seriously think he could pull that shit on _me_? I could totally take him out."

I nod silently in response.

"I mean have you seen him? If he wasn't such a teacher's pet he'd get his ass kicked."

"That's probably why Pierce sucks up so much."

"Paul."

"What?"

"Paul... I'm talking about Paul Sutter." He almost sounds disappointed when he says it.

"Oh... right, I knew that." I didn't. From beside me there's the slightest huff noise. I turn quickly to see SWCIFD facing forward with a very amused look on his face. Jackass is laughing at me.

"So, anyway she put him with Maddy, who's totally going to do the project for him." I have no idea who these people are.

The final bell goes, sending Mike to his own desk, and leaving me alone with an oddly behaving SWCIFD. I think it might be worse this way, I don't know who he's going to be anymore.

"So, before we get started today let's welcome Isabella back to class." There's an awkward round of sporadic clapping, and then Mr. Banner speaks again. "We'll need a volunteer to provide her with a copy of their notes."

Mike's hand is halfway in the air, when Mr. Banner looks at SWCIFD. "Would you be willing to do that, Edward?" So much for volunteer.

"Sure," he replies flatly with a nod.

"Just make sure she'll be able to read them," Banner adds jovially, laughing at his own... was that even a joke?

"Will do," SWCIFD answers with forced cheerfulness, through clenched teeth.

"I could do it," Mike offers, waving his hand in the air. "I have _very_ legible handwriting."

"I think I can probably manage," SWCIFD sneers back.

Mike looks back and glares. "I'm just trying to be helpful, dude."

"Not the word I'd use for it, but whatever."

Everybody seems to be looking this way, and I'm sure most of them are looking at SWCIFD, but being me, even next to the centre of attention is too close for comfort.

They are, I swear to God, having some kind of face-off. It's all intense eye contact and sneering mouths. SWCIFD's sitting so rigidly it's almost like he's ready to pounce at Mike and recreate a little Nature Channel predator-on-prey action. I think that sounded a little dirty. That wasn't supposed to sound dirty.

Mr. Banner is uselessly staring back and forth between them, and I have no idea what the fuck's going on. There's no way this is about Bio notes.

I carefully clear my throat, and ask, "So, are we going to do biology or what?" Okay now everyone is definitely looking at me. Super.

"Yes, um... biology. Today we are talking about hereditary diseases." He shoots a fleeting, probably unconscious, glance at SWCIFD, and goes on with his introduction to the lesson.

SWCIFD snorts derisively, and flips open his binder to a blank page. I lean on my left hand, head turned to face him.

"I didn't realize you were such a people person," I say quietly.

"It's a gift," he mutters back dryly. He lets out a sigh, allows his shoulders to drop from their tense position, and starts taking our notes.

00000

People are staring again, or maybe I should say still. All day people have been looking at me, with mild interest when their eyes focus on my cast, and with outright fascination when anything related to him is around. Waiting beside SWCIFD's car, for instance, is garnering me appraising looks I don't think have anything to do with 'the incident' as everyone's taken to calling it.

The girl I've assumed is Alice and the blond guy are walking through the lot one row over towards the red car. She's talking away to him, until her eyes land on me. She gets a strange look on her face, scans the parking lot behind her quickly, and starts to walk towards me. The guys hand shoots out, grabs her arm and spins her around like they're dancing, before tucking her against his side.

She gives him a look somewhere between a pout and a scowl. He says something to her, shakes his head, and presses a kiss to her forehead. Alice glances over at me ruefully, but I look away. Life made so much more sense when I was just another girl in a big high school in a big city.

Someone clears their throat near me, and I look up to find SWCIFD standing in front of me.

"You left without these." He's holding out some papers to me.

"What are they?"

"Photocopied Bio notes."

"Oh, right." I look down at his hands instead of his eyes while I take them. "Thanks."

"Sure." He runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, and asks, "So can you read them?"

"What?"

"Given that it seemed to be such a major concern, I figured we should probably make sure you could decipher my notes."

"Oh." I look down at the pages with their clear flowing script, and accompanying diagrams, that are way better than the ones they were copied from. "Your handwriting is ridiculously legible."

He laughs. "You make that sound like a bad thing."

"Well, it is kind of obnoxious." What the hell is wrong with me? I look up quickly; he seems surprised, or maybe confused. "Shit, I mean obnoxiously perfect, not actually... _obnoxious_... my writing's really bad."

He's clearly trying very hard not to laugh at me, although much like Carlisle he's not very good at it.

"I'm gonna get in the car now." He nods silently, one side of his bottom lip pulled into his mouth by his teeth.

Maybe he's taken this sudden interest in me because he finds me amusing. I am a bit of a mess.

00000

"Bella!"

"In the kitchen, Dad!"

"How was your day?" he asks, leaning against the kitchen door frame.

"Well, it was school, but it was fine."

"Good... how was the drive?"

"As I'm sure you've realized, he didn't kill me, so that was fine as well."

"I scanned the roadside ditches on my way home, just in case."

I turn to smile at him. "It really was fine." Very weird, but fine.

He nods. "Did you tell him what I said?"

"I promised I would."

"And...?"

We talked about Playboy Bunnies. "I think he got the message."


	9. Questions, Anger, and Answers

**A/N: **Beta'd by lunaserenade over at lj.

**Questions, Anger, and Answers**

"Hey, Billy," I sigh into the phone.

"_Bella_." He sounds just as tired of this whole business as I am.

"So...?" The fact that I don't even have to ask the question anymore is really depressing.

"_Jacob's not here right now_." From the tone of his voice I can clearly imagine the _you're a goddamn moron_ look he's giving Jake right now, because I have absolutely no doubt Jake is _right_ there. He is a goddamn moron.

"Right." I'm not even sure why I bother anymore. I haven't seen or heard from him since last Wednesday, that fucking Wednesday when he found out about my travel plans, which makes it a full week, as today is yet another fucking Wednesday. I've been calling every day since Thursday, but apparently he's got quite the social calendar of late, or his big fat head's gotten too big to fit through doors, and answer the phone.

Never ignore a fire alarm, that's the lesson in all this, they're smarter then you, or me at least.

I think a week is my limit when it comes to being a pathetically persistent schmuck.

"Will you give him a message for me?"

"_Of course_."

"Okay... Jake, this is _it_. I don't know what the hell your problem is, but I give up trying to figure it out. Either you want us to be friends, or you don't; if you do, then do something about it, if you don't, then don't. Either way it's up to you, I'm done."

"_Good for you_."

"Thanks, Billy." I hang up the phone, and stare at it for a while. What if he doesn't call? What if that's it? Our friendship just ends and I never understand why.

I get that's he's mad about SWCIFD driving me, but it's not like I'm dating him. I'm just being polite. That may be the problem, what the fuck does Jake know about being polite?

I sigh, letting my head rest against the cool, slightly bumpy, wall of the kitchen. He knows how to be polite, he just happens to have mastered the craft of jackass as well. Nobody's perfect, although it would be nice if people would put a bit of effort towards it once in a while. Is that really so much to ask?

The sound of the phone ringing makes me flinch. It's _really_ loud when you're right next to it.

"Hello?" I ask tentatively. There's no way to know if it's Jake, and even if it is I'm not entirely sure what he'd be calling to say.

"_Hello, Bella_." My stomach drops.

"Hi, Carlisle." After a week of nothing there's no way Jake would call back that fast, still...

"_How are you finding school with one arm?_"

"It's an adjustment, but I've managed to remain relatively harm free."

"_That's good. I really don't want to have to put you in bubble wrap_."

"I would rather avoid that as well. I think getting my stitches out will help."

"_About that, I know we arranged for you to come by tomorrow after your father finishes work, but I was thinking it might be more convenient for you to come in right from school_."

"I don't have a way to get there until my dad gets home."

"_I'm sure Edward wouldn't mind driving you_." Oh.

"Umm... I don't want to inconvenience him any more then I need to." Yesterday and today were fine. We didn't say much in the car, or in Bio, and there were no more impromptu diatribes on the symbolic nature of fruit, at least none directed at me, but there is a certain weirdness when we're together. It's confusing. He's acting... different in a weird, but also welcome way. It is an improvement of sorts, but still confusing as hell.

Jess isn't helping at all. I'm pretty sure that, if she thought I could answer, she'd ask how many times he blinks on the way to school. She has asked me what his car smells like though, and if he ever uses my name, and if he's ever mentioned her name, or if I've ever mentioned her name. Her constant questions are forcing me to think about his odd behaviour a lot more then I'd like to, which only makes me more confused. My head is starting to hurt.

"_Nonsense, it's less inconvenient for him then it would be for your father to go home, then come here, and then go back home after working all day_." He does have a point, Dad's usually pretty wiped out after work. I suppose I could deal with slightly more SWCIFD time to save my father from making a needless trip.

"Alright, I mean, if he's fine with it."

"_I'll tell him_." Great.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

"_Goodbye_."

"Bye."

That was weird.

00000

"Now, I know you're not careless, but you need to be extra careful. I don't want to have to stitch you back together every other week."

"Did you just shake your finger at me?" I ask incredulously. Who shakes their finger at people?

"Yes I did. That, my serious face, and my doctor voice are how you know I'm not joking." I'm noticing a distinct lack of his doctor voice at the moment.

"So, the rest of the time you're just messing around?"

"I assume so; no one seems to take me seriously."

"You should try being uglier. I think it would work." The fact that I just said that out loud without blushing is tantamount to a miracle. I'm finding it very hard to be embarrassed around him.

"I guess I could try that. Seems a bit like slapping God in the face though. He clearly spent an inordinate amount of time on me."

I snort. "I can't imagine why people don't take you seriously."

"I know. It's ridiculous. I was thinking about growing a moustache, make me look older."

"Older like you just stepped out of the eighties?"

"Doesn't matter. My wife has serious anti-facial hair leanings. I've been overruled."

"I think that's for the best."

"Well, that just leaves my serious face, and my doctor voice."

"And the finger wagging, that was very effective."

"Yeah, you clearly took that very seriously."

"Don't judge by me. I've had a lot of concussions."

"That would explain a lot."

"Hey!"

"Kidding," he laughs, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Hilarious," I reply dryly.

"Alright, you're free." He steps back from the exam table, giving me room to jump down. Then I can go back out to SWCIFD. Super.

I get that he was being considerate to my dad, but couldn't he have done it in another way? Like giving him coffee. Dad loves coffee. I'm still not really clear on why he was thinking about Dad's schedule in the first place.

"Why did you move my appointment?"

"You said you wanted me to."

"But why did you ask? What changed?"

"I didn't think of it before. Actually, I didn't think of it at all. It was Edward's idea."

What? Why would he be thinking about Dad's schedule?

"Do you need help getting down?"

"Oh... yeah."

His hand grips my left forearm to help me, and I look down as I move to get off the table. His hand is _really_ pale, even compared to my skin, and I'm moderately translucent. His face is really pale, too. So are the rest of his kids. I wonder if it's infectious... no, that's stupid.

Are they all so pale, because they stay inside with SWCIFD? Are they all so pale, because they're all photosensitive? Are they all so pale, because of another as yet unthought-of reason?

Can I ask him about that? It seems kind of personal, and completely not my business.

"Thanks," I say, as he steadies me with a hand on my shoulder.

"No problem."

I shouldn't ask him. It would be weird.

00000

When I walk into the waiting room, SWCIFD is slouched down into one of the uncomfortable plastic blue chairs lined up against the far wall, eyes trained on a battered magazine.

"_Cosmo_, really? I took you for a _Home and Country_ kind of guy."

"As much as I love to learn about the many uses of wicker baskets, I do find it lacking in sexual content." He tosses the magazine down onto the table, and stands. "Ready to go?"

"Yep."

We're walking through the automatic doors by the time I work up the nerve to ask.

"Why would you want to drive me to the hospital?"

"What?"

"Carlisle said this was your idea."

He pauses for a second, running a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, it was."

"But _why_?"

"Carlisle said your dad was bringing you today after work, and I said I could just bring you after school. He seemed to think it was a good idea, and that was it." He looks shifty.

"But why would you say that?"

"Because it's true?" How is that the point?

"Why would you volunteer to drive out of your way to bring me here?" I stop in the parking lot midway to his car.

Scowling, he looks away and keeps walking. "It's just, I don't know, something I said. Really not a big deal," he grumbles, roughly messing up his hair.

Great, now he's pissed at me.

"Okay."

I don't think asking if the rest of his adopted family has the same allergy would go over so well. He doesn't seem to be in a talking mood at the moment. I suppose I don't really have to ask _him_ though. The walking repository of all SWCIFD-related information may be able to give me an answer.

00000

I notice Jake's car parked in the driveway when we're a couple doors away.

He's sitting on the front steps in the lightly drizzling rain when we pull up to the curb. You'd think the car ran over his dog the way he's glaring at it, or maybe SWCIFD killed it. That would round out my psychopath profile quite nicely.

"Who is that?" Oh, apparently SWCIFD's talking to me again.

"Jake," I say with a sigh.

SWCIFD turns to me, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

"He's a friend."

"Just a friend?"

"Yes." Why does he even care?

"Your friend looks very happy to see you." His voice is sarcastic and cool, but his expression seems confused... anxious, maybe.

"I think most of that's directed at you."

"Nope, I'm fairly confident that's all for you." Smug bastard.

I get out of the car in a bit of a huff, stalking across the wet grass toward the house.

"Have you decided you're talking to me again?" I ask angrily, coming to a stop in front of Jake.

He shrugs, gets up from the steps, and starts walking towards his car. Is he leaving?

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I yell at his back.

He stops walking, standing completely still for a few moments, before he quickly turns towards me.

"Are _you_ fucking kidding _me_?" He yells back.

"What?"

"You start off accepting rides from _him_, and now you're, what? Spending quality time together after school."

"What are you...?" He thinks we're coming back now, because we were... I have no idea what the hell he thinks we were doing. "I had a _doctor's appointment_ you ass. If you'd spoken to me in the last _week_, you'd have known that."

He looks suitably shamed, but I'm still pretty pissed with him.

"He's really just driving you?" It sort of sounds like a question, but it's more of a statement, an acknowledgement of something he should've fucking _known_ in the first place.

I don't answer. I shouldn't have to answer. He shouldn't have to ask. I just glare at him until he looks down.

"Bella, I'm..."

"You're what? You're _sorry_?" I interrupt harshly.

He nods.

"Why Jake? Because of your assumptions or because of the way you reacted to them?"

I don't give a shit about his assumptions... okay maybe I do, but his reaction totally outweighs anything else. I mean the silent treatment, _really_? Are we four?

"Both... I've been an ass."

"I already said that."

"I'm just agreeing with you. I really am sorry, Bells. I just... I don't like him. The dude is messed up, and I thought... I got the irrational idea that you were the _you don't know what he's really like_ type of girl."

"The what type of girl?"

"You know... the sweet, trusting type of girl that meets the bad boy type of guy, falls head over heels, because he's so sweet underneath it all, and ends up crushed when she inevitably finds out he's actually just an ass that knows how to get laid."

"And you thought that was me?"

"I told you it was irrational. So, was my reaction, and I'm really sorry about that. I just got angry that you would do that after all we said about him."

"I can't believe you actually thought... _seriously_? I'm a dumb, love-struck girl in this scenario?"

"It's not a judgement," he replies defensively.

"It's not a judgement? It sounded pretty judgemental."

"You're a smart girl. I'm pretty sure you're a hell of a lot smarter than me, but... sometimes that doesn't matter."

"So, you've been an ass because you're worried about me?"

"There may have been some irrational anger as well," he admits with a nervous laugh.

"Right... so... do you want to come in?" I suck at being angry.

He smiles at me warmly, before checking his watch. "I have to go actually, my dad's waiting, but... maybe we could hang out Saturday?"

"Sounds good," I say as he gets into his car. "Leave the kitchen tyrant at home, though."

"Does that mean I'm invited for dinner?" He leans out of his open window to look up at me.

"Oh please, like you weren't going to try to wrangle a dinner invite. You always do."

"It's a complement. I'd much rather eat your food then mine."

"Most people would."

"Hey, now."

"I'll see you Saturday," I say with a laugh.

"Bye, Bells," he calls with a wave, pulling out of the driveway.

"Bye!"

It isn't until I walk into the house that I remember it's raining. You really do get used to it.

Just as I turn to shut the front door a silver Volvo pulls out of a spot down the street, and races past the house.

It _is_ a stalker car. I knew it.

00000

"Hey, Jess."

"Hi," she replies, turning away from her locker to face me. Here is comes. "So, how was the drive?"

"Fine... silent."

Jess sighs, giving me an admonishing look. "You've really got to talk to him."

"Why?"

"What do you mean _why_? You're in his car, which he can't get out of until you get to school, because he _asked_ you to be." He asked? When the fuck did he _ask_? "And what are you doing with that time?"

I open my mouth, as if I'm actually expected to answer, but I have nothing to say, and she's already answering herself.

"You're _wasting_ it, that's what you're doing." I feel like I'm being scolded by my mother, except my mother never scolded me, I scolded her. It's interesting to finally find out what it's like from the other side. It's really unpleasant.

"I mean, Jesus Christ, Bella. He _offered_ to drive you to school. Do you have any idea how many of my dreams have started like that?"

We have officially entered dangerous territory. If I'm not careful she might start detailing how these dreams end, and then I may never be able to look at his back seat without shuddering again.

"I really don't want to know."

"Whatever, my point is... you need to do this."

"Why?"

"Because I _need_ you to. Do you think I don't understand how pathetic I am? I know, alright, probably better than anybody else. He doesn't even talk to me for God sake. I mean he's spoken to me... monosyllables mostly, on the rare occasion he verbally acknowledged my request for a pen... mostly he just silently put it out for me, though. I'm not sure he's ever actually looked at me." Her voice is getting softer, and her unfocused gaze has landed on the lockers beside us. I don't think she's talking to me anymore.

Suddenly she snaps back to attention, and firmly tells me, "I need you to talk to him, because _I_ can't."

How exactly do you tell someone you think they may require professional help without running the risk of being maliciously tackle-hugged in the middle of the hallway? Probably best not to say anything. If she starts asking me to steal things from his glove compartment, or to plant a tracking bug on his car then I'll come up with a plan... involving a straightjacket. Moving on.

"Can I ask you a question about... him?" I ask hesitantly.

"Will you talk to him?"

"About what?"

"I don't care. Talk about the weather, or homework. Just get him to talk about something."

"But I don't want to." God, I sound like a four-year-old on the verge of a temper tantrum.

"It's not going to kill you."

"He might," I mutter under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." Note to self: keep the crazy inside the head at all times.

"Alright, what's your question?"

How do I ask this? I don't even know if people are aware that SWCIFD is photosensitive, which means a_re the other Cullens photosensitive as well?_ isn't the way to go. It might be a secret. No, that's ridiculous. He wouldn't have told me if it was a secret. Would he? No.

I'll have to be indirect.

"Why are all the Cullens so pale?"

Jess gives me a funny look that makes me feel like a bit of a moron, and asks, "Do you not know?"

"Know what?"

"They're all, like... allergic to the _sun._" Well, that worked out nicely.

"All of them?"

"Every Cullen in the district... or, at least all the ones from that... group of Cullens."

"But they're adopted, right? How can they all have the same thing?"

"That's why they adopted them."

"What?"

"Well, Mrs. Cullen was, I think, twenty when they adopted Edward. They weren't even looking for kids; they only adopted him because he was allergic, too. I think they might have known him before they adopted him, but I'm not sure."

"Why was he up for adoption?" I ask, after she slams her locker shut, and we start walking down the hall.

"My mom said he was orphaned, but I don't know anything else. None of them ever talk about before they got here. Two of them barely even talk."

"Two?"

"Edward, which you know, and then Jasper, he doesn't talk to _anybody_ else. I've heard if a teacher calls on him he just sits there and stares at them until they move on, totally creepy. Although he seems kind of sweet with Alice."

"That's the girl with dark hair?"

"The small one, yeah." Finally I have confirmation. "She and Emmett are alright. They're not exactly involved with people outside the family, but they talk to people, mostly small talk, but interaction none the less. Then there's Rosalie, she talks, but nobody enjoys it. _Major_ bitch, thinks she's light-years better than everybody else, but of course the guys don't care, because she's like supermodel perfect."

"So, why does Mike single him out as the one that looks like a... you know?"

"Oh, well, Edward's been here six years. His first two years he was the only kid like them here. He was really withdrawn. Most kids thought he was snobby, because Dr. Cullen is from a wealthy family. I think it was just hard for him to adjust, and he seemed to prefer being on his own. When Rosalie showed up they hung out together, but I don't think they ever really got along.

"Anyway, nobody made fun of Rosalie. The boys could barely even think around her, let alone talk, and she's scary. I'm pretty sure she could literally rip somebody's head off if she wanted to. Next was Emmett, he was a big guy, and he's only gotten bigger. Alice and Jasper showed up at almost exactly the same time, and..."

"Jess."

"Yeah?"

"Why is he the one Mike calls a vampire?" Focus woman.

"Oh, right. Well, when he first got here that's what they used to call him, and it stuck. I doubt he even knows."

"What?" Does she think he's stupid?

"Well, he always kept his distance from people. Even when he first got here he never talked to anybody. He did that intense staring thing to intimidate people whenever someone tried to approach him, he wasn't as good at it as he is now, but it was still pretty effective. I don't think any of them ever worked up the courage to say it to him."

Maybe not, but he definitely knows.

He may not be fond of Rosalie, but I bet he was at least a little happy when she moved in, even if she is a giant bitch.

Maybe she hates me because she puts me in with that group of people. It has to be more then that though. She _really_ doesn't like me. At the hospital she never even mentioned me, and then all of a sudden she starts looking at me like I'm evil.

_What the hell were you thinking?!_ She'd yelled at him.

_Are you _seriously_ mad at me?_

_You could have died!_

No, she doesn't care about me. She hates that he put himself in danger. The fact that he did that to save me, someone who could very well be a part of that group, results in her hating me for it. That's almost kind of sweet... in a perverse way.


	10. Pyromania and Other

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net), Denise, and camerasarelying (lj). Thank you guys.

I want to make a clarification: This story is **All Human**. I'm not leading up to a big _Edward is a vampire_ reveal. Edward and the rest of the Cullens are human; photosensitive, slightly crazy humans. I'm sorry for any confusion.

Also, did you see my new banner (link on my profile)? I think it's pretty. I didn't make it, so I'm allowed to say that without it being weird.

I just want to say thank you again to the people who went out and recced this story, or thank you for the first time if I haven't talked to you before. The number of reviews on went from 52 or 54 to 97 after the last post. So, yeah, seriously well done.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Pyromania and Other Fun Topics of Conversation**

I wonder what Mom is doing right now.

I'm not really sure how this whole _follow Phil across the country_ plan is going to work out long term. She loves her job. She loves making changes to the house. She loves our traditions, hell, she created our traditions. Christmas break starts in less than two weeks, and I'm not entirely sure where they are right now, but I doubt they have a giant cactus in the backyard, and they definitely don't have me. She may have to celebrate Christmas like a normal person. She'll hate that.

What else can I think about?

I've got nothing.

The rest of my class is playing soccer in the gym. I'm sitting high up on the bleachers, hoping to avoid any wayward balls that might decide to seek me out. Sports equipment hates me like that. In fact most inanimate things seem to hate me like that, especially floors; those bastards really have it out for me.

"Do you actually have to be here?"

I turn to find SWCIFD standing on the bleachers behind me. How the hell did that happen? The bleachers are metal, and noisy, and I didn't hear anything. I didn't think I was that out of it.

"Where did you come from?" I ask, pulling one of my ear buds out.

"I came up the side," he explains, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.

"There's a side?" My eyes follow him as he comes and sits next to me, leaning back against the bench behind him. He does walk pretty quietly up here.

"Well... there are girders... are they girders? Maybe they're joists. I have no idea. Anyway there are support related things that are scalable."

"You _climbed_ the side?" That's a joke right?

"Well, the front really wasn't an option." He glances over at the teacher, who's busy yelling instructions out to the other students while he runs among them with the ball, and then looks back at me. "Mr Rickman's not a fan."

"Really? And here I thought everybody loves you."

He smiles at me crookedly, and says, "Yeah, alright, it's not exactly a rare opinion, but I always thought consistency was a good thing."

"Depends what you're consistent about."

"I suppose it does." One side of his mouth quirks up a little more, before he turns to look at the game. "So, do you really have to come to gym to do nothing?"

"I get marked for attendance." I feel a little defensive, like he's implying I've been tricked. Why I care what he's implying I'm not entirely sure. I'd rather sit here with nothing to do but listen to Chuck, than have to participate. I think my classmates probably prefer it as well, although Mike tries very hard to pretend he isn't happy about it.

"See that's just... dickish. It's shit like that that lead me to call him Dickman. He brought it on himself."

"You did what?"

"I called him Dickman... you know, instead of Rickman."

"To his face?" Unlike my last gym teacher, Mr. Rickman looks like he actually gets exercise, a _lot_ of exercise. The man is scary looking in an _I can crush your head with my hands_ kind of way. Plus he's got a hell of a temper sometimes.

"Yeah, in grade nine. It wasn't the cleverest thing I've ever said, but it served its purpose."

"I bet that went over well."

"I got a lot of detentions. Eventually Carlisle wrote me a note saying I was physically unfit to participate in Phys Ed. I have to take the healthy living course instead."

"Yeah, you look really frail," I remark, looking over his arms and chest. Definitely not sickly. Shit, now he's smirking at me. And now I'm blushing like crazy. And now I'm looking away.

"You can get away with a lot when you've got a rare, fairly weird disease, especially when you've got a respected doctor backing you up."

We both go quiet. I wouldn't say it's uncomfortable, but there is a kind of tension that puts me a little on edge. I feel like I need to say something, maybe that'll make this edgy tension feeling go away.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was walking past the gym, and saw you sitting here. I figured you were probably bored too."

Part of me thinks that this; coupled with the random hospital visit, the insistence that he drive me to school, and that whole hiding down my street in his ridiculously silent car incident, might be the warning signs of a burgeoning stalker. Another part of me is inordinately pleased that he came over to sit with me. He is pretty cute for a Scary Weird Creepy-Incestuous-Family Dude, not that I've know many of them.

I wonder if Stockholm syndrome applies to stalker/stalkee relationships, not that this is a relationship... obviously. There's definitely something happening to my brain.

"Can I see that?"

"What?" I ask, but he's already picked Chuck up off my lap. The bastard's holding Chuck! I fight the urge to reach out and snatch him back. I need to be calm. Don't be the weird girl that freaked out on a guy because he touched her iPod. That sounds vaguely dirty.

I think I can at least appear calm, but watching him scroll through my music isn't helping, so I turn to look at the players on the basketball court turned soccer field. Let's see, there's Jess chatting with another girl off to the side by the net. Where's Mike? I scan the gym, trying to ignore the fact that SWCIFD's sitting right next to me, messing with Chuck.

"So, how are you liking Forks?"

"It's definitely different from Phoenix." It's kind of a non-answer, because obviously they're different, but _fine_ seems like a crappy answer too.

"Yeah, I bet."

I look over at him out of the corner of my eye. He's still looking down, scrolling through my music. His face is kind of scrunched up and serious with concentration. It's kind of... endearing? I'm definitely developing some form of Stockholm syndrome. Or I'm just crazy.

We sit in silence for a moment, and once again that tension takes the place of conversation. In his car and the bio room, there's always a gap maintaining the personal space bubble, but benches don't separate people.

It's a little weird, having him sitting right there; close enough that I can feel a touch of his body heat, but not close enough that we're actually in contact.

"Did you really blow up a shed?" Watching his reaction, he doesn't seem as surprised as I was expecting. He actually looks fairly amused.

He chuckles lowly, and turns away from my iPod to look at me sideways, without raising his head.

"Have you been asking about me, Bella?" he asks me in a slow, teasing voice. A funny little shot of heat goes through my stomach.

"No." Well, _that_ bit of information didn't come from me asking about him anyway.

"But you were talking about me." A smirk very similar to the one I got for my blatant ogling shows up, and I start blushing again.

"Incidental offshoot of an unrelated conversation," I reply dismissively, at least I hope that's how it sounds. His smirk gets wider. I was kind of hoping for a little embarrassment, at the very least some humility, but no, he seems to like my answer.

"Apparently fireworks and a shed full of old paint cans don't mix... or they mix really well, depending on your perspective."

"And what's your perspective?"

He's looking out at the game now, but I can still see the smile creeping onto his face. He shrugs and says, "It was pretty awesome."

He glances at me for a second with an impish grin, and then leans back against the bench behind us, turning back to the gym class below. Scary cancels out cute.

He doesn't seem quite so scary anymore though. I mean he still freaks me out, but he seems scary in a human way, as opposed to the sub-human psychopath I'd been imaging him as. Still scary though... sometimes.

"Do you often blow things up?"

"Mostly I just light them on fire."

"Why?"

"It's fun."

"Okay," I reply slowly.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?"

"No."

"You should... I could show you, but it'd have to be at night."

I bark out a brief laugh. SWCIFD, fire, and night, now that's a combination Dad would love.

"I won't forget to put roses on your grave."

"My unmarked, never to be found grave?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Well, that's awfully sweet."

Shit. Why would I say that? That's a weird thing to say. "It's from a song... _The Rolling Stones_." Of course, it's from a song that has absolutely no relevance to the present conversation, but it's the first thing that popped into my head.

He laughs, presumably at my obvious discomfort. "'_Dead Flowers',_ I know, and I do so love silk upholstered chairs. Never saw you as a druggy, though."

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

"That's very true," he says, looking at me thoughtfully. His scrutiny makes me uncomfortable, surprise surprise, so I look away, again.

Another moment of silence, another dose of tension. This is getting ridiculous.

"Why did you stick around after you dropped me off on Thursday?" I grimace when I realize the creepy stalker answer this could elicit.

SWCIFD sighs in annoyance, but he doesn't say anything.

"Or how about this one: why do you get pissed off when I ask you a question?" Who the hell gets angry over questions? They're not even personal questions.

"Maybe I think your questions are stupid." My eyes narrow at him in anger, but he's not looking at me. Would it be weird to get him to turn so I can glower at him properly?

"Maybe I ask them, because I don't know what the hell you're doing," I snap.

He looks at me briefly, finally getting to see my scowl, and then turns away with a sigh; but it sounds more like defeat then anger this time.

"Are you really surprised I didn't just leave?"

"Why would you stay?" Does he always stay? Does he think I know that he stays? Does he think I _want_ him to stay? I know some stalkers make up stuff like that in their head, is that what this is?

"Seriously? There was a large... well, large compared to you, very angry guy waiting for you. You thought I was just going to leave?" So, not a regular occurrence then.

"You were... _worried_ about me?"

"I guess."

"Why?"

"What part of large angry guy..."

"But Jake would never hurt me," I interrupt.

"Well, I don't know that, do I?" Why does he care? Why does he keep showing up? Why does he talk to _me_ when he goes around pretending everyone else doesn't exist? And he thinks the questions I ask out loud are annoying.

"Do I... amuse you?" I ask uncertainly.

He turns, and gives me a strange look. "If you mean that in the sense that clowns amuse people at the circus, then no." Do people actually find clowns amusing? I find them creepy. Of course I find him creepy, and I still think he's kind of funny.

"Is there another sense that would be... yes?"

"I suppose I would say that you amuse me in the sense that you're funny."

"As in slapstick?" I do fall on my ass a lot.

"That would take us back to the clowns."

"So, what do you mean?"

"I mean that you say things that are humorous.... which is amusing," he explains condescendingly.

"Like stupid things, or..."

"No, I'm pretty sure you do it intentionally... most of the time."

"You think I'm funny?"

"You don't?"

"I don't know. I just think I'm... kind of crazy."

"Well, you may be that too," he laughs. He seems so relaxed. Where the hell did this guy come from? Where's the identical, silently menacing guy that glares at me from across restaurant dining rooms?

"Why don't you talk to people?"

"I talk to people."

"People who aren't your family?"

"I wasn't aware we were related." I roll my eyes at him, making him laugh lightly.

"Okay, I'll rephrase. Why are you such a jackass to people other than your family, and those you find entertaining?"

I seem to have once again amused him with my forwardness. I should be getting paid for this. I wonder what the going rate for a personal jester is.

"Rosalie says I was improperly socialized, although she's a bitch, so... of course, the fact that that's my response may actually prove her point. It is true, though... that she's a bitch."

"In what sense?"

"What?"

"How were you _improperly socialized_?"

"Well, I didn't exactly spend my weekends playing ball in the park with the other kids my age." Yeah, people tend to do that in the sun.

"Oh... right"

"Did you forget?" he asks with amusement.

"No, I just didn't think of it." He nods. "Does it bother you... to talk about it?"

"Not with you."

"Why?"

"You don't seem to care," he replies with a shrug.

"I called you a _vampire._"

"You _compared_ me to a vampire, there's a huge difference."

"But still." I called him a _vampire_. How is that not a big deal?

"Would you like me to be uncomfortable about it with you?"

"No, I just don't understand."

"People usually either pity, mock, or go to great lengths to pretend we're like everyone else, which for the most part we are. To the best of my knowledge you haven't reacted in any of those ways. You acknowledge, without... fussing."

"Oh." I'm trying to come up with a more intelligent response to that when Mr. Rickman blows his whistle, signalling the end of class.

SWCIFD leans closer to me, and says, "I'll see you in the lot." He places Chuck back on my thigh, before he quickly gets up, goes a couple benches lower, and then jumps over the side.

I sit there quietly for a few minutes, staring at the spot on the bleachers he just disappeared from. Well, he jumped, but it seems like he disappeared, which fits in nicely with the surreal feeling that conversation's left me with.

"Bella!"

I turn towards the sound to find Jess exiting the girls locker room. Her damp hair's pulled up into a messy bun, because apparently I spaced out long enough for her to shower and change.

"I'm coming!"

Christmas break starts at the end of next week. At the end of Christmas break my cast finally comes off, and I get to drive myself to school. Maybe that'll make my brain work properly again.

00000

As per usual, Jess walks me to his car. She says hello, he nods distantly without actually looking at her, and then she walks away grinning like an idiot for reasons I completely fail to understand.

Generally at this point we silently get into his car, and he drives, as one often does with cars. But today seems to be _let's deviate from the norm day_, and I clearly didn't get that memo, or maybe it was on one of those posters hanging all over the school that I never read.

Today he reaches into the front pocket of his coat, and pulls out a bag of red liquorice. SWCIFD takes out a few strips... would you call them strips? Anyway he takes some out, and then hands me the bag.

In return I stare at him like he just turned into a giant bug a la _Metamorphosis_. I should try to finish that book at some point... maybe.

After a couple moments of my staring, which admittedly is not the most polite response to somebody offering you candy, he says, "Get in the car."

"What, no _I'm a friend of your mother's, she asked me to pick you up for her_ to go with my candy?"

"Did you just call me a pedophile?"

"I _compared_ you to a pedophile, there's a huge difference. Also I'm not a kid, so you'd just be a regular old rapist."

"Oh, well that's much less offensive then," he laughs. "Seriously though, get in the car."

"Alright, alright. You know you're very pushy."

"I imagine most vampire rapists are," he replies. He sounds so thoughtful when he says it, like it's something really deep.

"Well, aren't you philosophical."

"I am. I think stuff all the time. For instance, if you got in the car, I could drive you home."

"Wow, that's brilliant."

"And that's just what I'm thinking about right now. In about twenty minutes I'll have a whole different thought, probably about dinner."

"You should keep a journal. You don't want to lose all those precious ideas."

"Am I going to have to make you get in the car?"

I just laugh.

"You're doing this to annoy me, aren't you?"

"It is very entertaining."

"I could bribe you with candy."

"You already gave me candy. I believe that's how all this got started."

He starts doing that intense eye contact glaring thing to me, but it's not really all that scary. I don't think he's in the right mind set. You can't go from self-effacing facetiousness to effective death glare like that, you just can't. I'm trying really hard not to laugh, but it's not working very well.

As soon as I realize we could end up standing here for quite a while in yet another standoff, I figure I should probably put an end to this before I start taking it seriously, and decide I want to win.

"Alright, I'm getting in the car, but I feel I should say I'm not doing it because of you. I just don't want to be standing here when it starts to rain again."

"I feel I should say I really don't care why you're doing it, I just want you to get in the car." So I do.

Of course as soon as we leave the parking lot, he says, "I still won." Son of a bitch.

"You are so not getting your bag of liquorice back."


	11. Blow Up in the Little Big City

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net), and Denise.

**Blow Up in the Little Big City**

I'm really starting to hate tote bags. They're just a pocket with straps that refuse to stay on your shoulder. They have no divisions. There are no smaller pockets to separate pens and keys from textbooks and notebooks. It all just goes in together, and I have to root around with my one hand to find anything.

I miss my backpack. I could deal with the only_-_being-able-to-wear-one-of-two-straps thing, even though it pulls my shoulder back to a weird angle in relation to the rest of my body. I could live with that. It doesn't ache that much. The problem is zippers. Backpacks have zippers; tote bags do not.

Have you ever tried to unzip a backpack with one hand? The fabric moves, but the zipper doesn't. It's a great way to get really frustrated really fast. Trying to use a backpack everyday would very likely lead to me tossing the damn thing, unopened obviously because of the fucking zippers, across the room and very likely taking someone out in the process. So for now I'm stuck with the tote bag. Fucking tote bag.

No matter how hard I tried to shove everything in, it just wouldn't fit. So, now I'm carrying what wouldn't go in. Which means the one hand capable of manipulating things like door handles and keys is, at best, partially useless.

I don't even bother trying to lock the door as I leave. It's a small town with an almost non-existent crime rate, and nothing about our house indicates that it's hiding anything valuable inside.

Sadly, car doors are not so easy to deal with when your arms are full.

I look like an idiot right now, struggling with a car door. I know this. Clearly SWCIFD knows this too, because he's trying not to laugh at me.

Eventually he leans over to open it from the inside.

"Thanks," I mutter, gracelessly plunking down into the seat.

He nods and pulls the car away from the curb.

00000

Once we get to school I learn that it's harder to get out of the car with my hands unavailable then it was to get in. I do eventually manage it though, once again looking like an idiot in the process.

SWCIFD is standing uncertainly on the passenger side of the car, with his hands shoved in his pockets when I finally fight my way out of the car. He looks like he wants to say something, but I glare at him before he can offer to help. He gives me a _suit yourself_ shrug and I start off towards school.

Mike swoops in from somewhere to the left and takes the stuff out of my arms before I can protest.

"You could have asked."

"You'd have said no," he answers with a grin.

"All the more reason for you to ask."

"At some point in your life you're going to have to learn how to be gracious, Bella. You might as well start now."

"At some point in your life you're going to learn that women appreciate manners, Mike, and then you're gonna be shit out of luck."

"Well, let's see... please, thank you, ma'am," he says the last one while tipping an imaginary hat. Someone's been watching too many movies set in the forties. "I think I've got it covered."

I sigh, and shake my head in defeat. He just smiles wider, and we start walking again. When I get my cast off, I'm going to start stealing his stuff, see how he likes. Of course then I'd have to run, and that usually doesn't end well. Maybe I'll just take something when he's not looking and hide it.

While I'm trying to run down a list of possible things I could steal from him without him noticing right away, someone calls his name; just as he turns away my foot loses traction, slipping out from under me. I start falling backwards, but an arm snakes around my waist and pulls me back against something solid. There's a warm puff of laughter against my ear and a brief steadying hand on the small of my back, and then SWCIFD walks past me without looking back. He may make me uncomfortable but the man is handy to have around. His habit of popping up out of nowhere is getting a bit weird, though.

Mike turns back, probably only seconds after he turned away, but SWCIFD's already passed another group of people and disappeared into the milling crowd. Mike jolts as his foot slips, but of course, he catches himself. He's not balance impaired.

"Watch out for the ice," he comments idly, "You need at least one good arm."

"Thanks," I mutter distractedly, standing on my toes to see if I can spot SWCIFD in the crowd ahead. I don't see him. Maybe he can teleport or something... that would explain a lot, actually.

Mike walks with me to my locker, and just as I reach out to take my stuff he moves it farther away. I give him a look somewhere between questioning and pissed off, and he smiles nervously.

"I wanted to ask you, umm... do you want to hang out after school, just us?"

"But not like a...?"

"No!" he interrupts quickly, and blushes. "Just... hanging out."

"Are you holding my books hostage?"

"What?" He gives me a confused look, and then glances down at my books cradled against his chest. "No, sorry," he laughs uncomfortably and hands them back. "I just wanted you to wait."

I don't think this is a good idea at all, but he just seems so... oh crap. "Alright."

"Yeah?" He looks up quickly, his expression practically dripping with hope.

"Yeah, but it's NOT a date."

"No, no of course not. We're friends."

"Right."

"Right."

I don't find the huge smile plastered across his face particularly reassuring.

00000

I spend the majority of first period history either wondering whether or not it's possible that SWCIFD has the ability to appear and disappear out of thin air or worrying that Mike is going to be standing outside the door at the end of the class to take my books again. God knows what he'd want me to agree to this time.

When the bell finally goes, I look both ways trying to spot Mike, before going out into the hall, and then I do my best to stay in populated areas to decrease the chance of being seen. This is insane. I feel like a fugitive.

I move around an annoyingly slow moving group of guys and end up out in the middle of the hallway. SWCIFD is walking ahead of me, and before I can really think about it, I'm walking faster to catch up to him.

"How is it you always seem to appear out of nowhere?" I ask, coming up beside him.

He turns quickly, and his surprised look is almost comical. Forget _almost_, it's fucking hilarious.

"Everything comes from somewhere."

"What?"

"Nothing comes from nowhere."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You said I come from nowhere. I'm pointing out that that's impossible."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm just making a comment."

"You're evading my question, that's what you're doing."

"Me? I wouldn't do that. I'm a very straight forward person." I snort, because he's clearly full of it, and he chuckles.

"So, how is it you always seem to appear out of nowhere?"

"I'm just stealthy like that. It's good practice."

"For what, your future career as a ninja?"

"No, for when I graduate from luring unsuspecting teenage girls into my car with candy to full-fledged vampire rapist."

"Is there money in that?"

"Well, I'll probably have to rob banks too, but I'm sure my conscience can take it."

"Why are we even talking about this?"

He shrugs. "You started it."

"I did, didn't I?"

"Yup. My class is down there," he says pointing down the hall to the left.

"Alright." I take a few more steps toward my English class before things click into place. I turn quickly towards his retreating back. "You didn't answer my question!"

He turns slowly to face me. "Didn't I?" His expression is a mix of mock confusion and all too real smugness, because apparently the bastard already knew that.

00000

As I near the cafeteria, I spot Jess and Angie standing around by the doors. When Angie sees me she taps Jess's arm to get her attention and waves me over to them.

"So, anything new today?" Jess asks, with a knowing smile as I come to stand in front of them. Did she hear that I talked to him in the hallway? Or maybe that he grabbed me when I slipped? I really hope she's not about to ask what it feels like to be pulled against his chest, because any possible conversation stemming from _that_ is definitely going to be infringing on dangerous territory.

"Uh... he mentioned he likes Bill Bryson this morning." I shoot a questioning look at Angie. She usually isn't here for Jess's questions. I get the feeling she thinks it's a bit like a drug dealer selling an addict crack, but in a very nonjudgmental way that only Angie can pull off.

"Edward? Really? I... I don't know who that is."

"He writes travel books, they're... funny?" That shouldn't have been a question, but something about this situation is making me really nervous.

"Oh... well..."

"Jess," Angie interrupts impatiently.

"Oh, right... uh, no, that's not what I meant. Are you going out with Mike?"

Shit. "Define _going out_."

"You know... like a date."

"No, I'm not going on a date. We're just friends. We're hanging out as _friends_."

"Oh... because everyone thinks you're going on a date."

"Everyone as in...?"

"The entire school." I really hate small schools. I really _really_ hate small schools. I want to go back to something more like my last school, where my lab partner thought my name was Isadora, and I didn't know what my principal looked like. A school you can disappear in, that's what I want.

"I told you it wasn't true," Angie mutters quietly to Jess.

"You never think rumours are true."

"Because they never are."

"Most of them are true."

"Really? So, how'd that date with David Waters go?"

"I did NOT... _some_ of them are true."

"Are we going to be eating lunch anytime soon?" I ask, cutting off whatever Angie was going to say in response.

"Oh, yeah," Jess says, turning to push through the double doors. "But if you _were_ going on a date or something you'd tell us, right? Because we're friends... at least I think we're friends."

"We're friends," I reply with a nod. "If there was something to tell, I'd have told you."

"Good."

Mike doesn't turn up at the table until halfway through lunch, and then he squeezes in on the side of the table I'm sitting on, despite the fact that there're less people on the other side. With him being on the same side of the table as me, and with Jess and Tyler sitting between us, I can't really see him at all. I'm pretty sure he did that on purpose, like he's avoiding me in case I try to change my mind. My suspicion is basically confirmed when he scarfs down his lunch in record time, and then runs out ten minutes before the bell. On the plus side, it's much easier to avoid someone who's trying to avoid you.

00000

When I get to bio, Mike isn't there yet, unlike SWCIFD who's already sitting at our table, smiling at me funny.

"So, should I call you Mrs. Newton now, or are you going with a hyphen? Swan-Newton... Newton-Swan? Personally, I vote for Newton-Swan. The other one sounds too much like Fig Newton, like it's a Newton full of Swan, although I guess that makes the other one a Swan full of Newton, and that's so much more disturbing." Did he seriously just... ew.

"Would you shut up," I snap. I carelessly drop my tote bag down next to my stool, and the contents spill out onto the floor between us. I glare at the messy pile briefly, but make no move to pick it up. With a defeated sigh, I drop my head down onto the wooden table in front of me. Why won't this day just fucking end?

"Wow, hostile. Did he forget you're anniversary already?"

"Do you have a death wish? Is that what this is?"

"I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Well, you suck at it."

"Hey, it's the thought that counts, right?"

"Depends what your goal is. I don't think your goal is particularly friendly," I reply through gritted teeth.

"Alright, alright. Breathe, Bella." And I do. "I'm guessing that's a no then, on the name change?"

"Yes, it is."

"Good, cause you know he's an ass, right?"

"Well, you'd know wouldn't you?"

"Exactly, I'm an expert."

"It's not even a date," I mutter defensively.

"Have you told him that?"

"Yes."

"Do you believe he understands that?"

"I'm not... sure."

"You should probably clear that up before the invitations go out."

"I think that time may have already passed." The cat's already way the fuck out of the bag.

00000

This is very possibly my worst decision ever. Why the fuck did I agree to this? I knew he didn't want to go out as friends. I knew he wanted this to be a date, but I came anyway.

This feels like a date. A _really_ awkward date. He drove us down to Port Angeles after school and we went to see a movie. He tried to convince me to watch some nondescript romantic one called _The Heart of Love_, or _The Beat of Love_, or _The Beat of Your Heart_, or something like that. I tried to steer him more towards the slasher flick about a serial killer in a logging camp because I figured it would be an easy way to get him off the date movie idea, but he wouldn't have it. We ended up compromising with one of those comedies aimed at teenagers that further convinces me adults think we're complete idiots. I was a little insulted, actually.

In the theatre he kept brushing his arm against mine when he grabbed a handful of popcorn, and leaning in really close to whisper things while the movie was going on. On the way to the restaurant his hand kept touching the small of my back or my arm as we walked.

Now we're sitting in La Bella Italia in the midst of an incredibly awkward bout of extended silence, while I aimlessly poke at my pasta. I should've gone home.

"So... have you started that research paper for history yet?" Mike asks.

"Umm... yeah, I finished it a few days ago."

"Oh, yeah... I haven't gotten around to it yet."

I nod. My eyes scan the occupants of the surrounding tables. Do they think we're on a date? Do they think we're a couple? Does Mike think we're a couple? No, he may be trying to make this into the date I explicitly said it wasn't, but he's not delusional.

"How did you find it?"

"What?" I ask, turning back to look at him.

"How did you find the paper?"

"Oh... it wasn't too bad... time consuming, I guess."

He nods. "Yeah, research papers are pretty time consuming."

"Yeah." It's not very often I'd characterize a conversation as painful, but this definitely meets the criteria. On the bright side, we're both almost done with our food and then I can go home. I really want to get home.

About twenty minutes later we're outside in the chilly night air, walking down the street. Mike stops a few feet from his car, turning towards me hesitantly.

"So... um..." Mike starts, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the sidewalk. "There's a bakery down the street that's open pretty late. We could go and get something for dessert, if you want."

"I'd really rather we just go home, Mike."

He nods, still looking down at his shoe scratching against the cement. I turn to walk towards his car, when I hear an abrupt and unsettlingly bitter laugh. I turn back around quickly to find Mike looking at me with a twisting smile.

"What?"

"Nothing, I just... it's stupid," he says with a shake of his head. I know I should probably say something. He's been really sweet, and for some unknown reason he seems to like me, but I just don't think of him that way. I have absolutely no idea what one says in this situation. I'm not exactly practiced in the ways of tactfully dealing with someone who has an unrequited crush on you. Hell, I don't even know how to deal with requited crushes, and they seem much simpler, at least in theory. I haven't had a boyfriend since kindergarten, and I seriously doubt that counts.

"Okay," I reply slowly. I want to turn and start off towards his car, but he seems to be really fascinated by the ground again, and I kind of need him to drive me. "Are you coming?"

"In a minute, I just... is there a reason?" Oh, shit. Are we actually going to talk about this right now?

"I don't... I don't like you like that, Mike."

"But you don't really know me. I mean... we never _really_ talk."

"We talk... I've talked."

"Yeah, you banter, but you never really _say_ anything. Not about yourself."

"That's not true," I reply defensively. Is that true? Do I talk without saying anything? Do I shut people out? Fuck, now is so not the time for self-reflection.

"Well, maybe you share all your little secrets with _Edward_, but you're certainly keeping them to yourself around everyone else."

"Wow! What the hell was that?"

"I'm just thinking... you know, obviously vamp boy deigns you good enough to talk to, so maybe you don't want to hang out with the townie's anymore. Maybe that's why you stay so distant. Maybe you think you're too good to hang out with us, but you haven't gotten your invitation to the privileged table yet."

"Are you fucking serious, right now!?"

"I get it. You come from a big city, and all of a sudden you're surrounded by a bunch of small town kids."

"I'm from Forks! I was _born_ in Forks!"

"And then your Mom left, because she thought she was too good for us. I suppose it's only natural you would feel the same."

"Did you really just bring my mother into this, _Michael_?" I swear to God if he so much as implies something about her I'm going to take him out, broken arm or not.

He doesn't reply, just sighs loudly and brings his hands up to the sides of his head.

"So, what is this? Do you actually believe all this shit, or have I just injured your precious ego?"

"Oh, please. Get over yourself, Bella."

"You know what? Maybe you should just fuck the hell off, Mike."

"Gladly!" He yells, turning with quick strides to get to his car. I look away towards the darkened shops, trying to suppress the overwhelming urge to chase him down and do some serious damage to his stupid arrogant face.

I hear his car tear off down the street, the headlights flash across the storefronts as he speeds past. Suddenly, all the rage that was filling me disappears. I'm still angry. I'm still _really_ fucking angry, but mostly I just feel empty inside.

I'm now alone in a strange city on a December night. This is just fantastic.

With a tired sigh, I sit down on the curb of the dark, largely empty street. I drop my head down against my knees, wrap my arms around the front of my legs, and just sit there for a while.

That went really, _really_ fucking badly.

**A/N:**

BLtS now has two threads. You can find the addresses on my profile page.

Also the first chapter of my new fic _Ethan Church_ is now up.

Summary: After receiving an invitation to write the biography of the severely reclusive author Ethan Church, Bella develops a reluctant obsession with his novels and by extension him. When she accepts his offer, the old, dying man she's presented with and the young, too perfect man she comes across on the nearly empty estate have her convinced she's missing some very important parts of the story. E/B, AU.


	12. Edward

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net), and Denise.

**Edward**

If I call Dad he'll kill Mike. I'm sure there's some reason why that would be a bad thing, even if I can't think of one right now. Jake might also kill him. At the very least he'd tell Dad who would then proceed to kill Mike. If I call one of the AF everyone will know by the weekend, including Dad. Fuck.

I need someone who won't tell anyone... someone who doesn't _talk_ to anyone would probably be perfect for that. Someone who doesn't talk to anyone but has some mysterious interest in me that causes him to drive out of his way to take me back and forth to school. I really fucking hope SWCIFD's not the _I told you so_ type. I am not in the mood for that shit.

I tug down the zipper of my jacket and reach into the inner pocket for my phone. I scroll down to the _S_'s in my address book, and make the call.

It rings a lot, and I'm just starting to panic a little because I really don't have a plan B, when he answers.

"_Hello?"_ He sounds surprised.

"Hey... it's Bella."

There's complete silence for a couple moments.

"Hello?" They better not have dropped my call.

"_Oh, yeah, hey... um, what's going on?"_

"I need a ride." I sound pathetic. I probably am pathetic, but I guess that can't be helped right now.

"_Where?"_

"Home."

"_Are you still in Port Angeles?"_

"Yep."

"_Where's Mike Newton?"_ The million dollar question: Where the fuck is Mike Newton?

"Umm... he's not here."

"_Where _is_ he?"_ He sounds a little annoyed, which makes sense I guess. Who wants to get bugged for a ride by some girl from school at eight on a Thursday?

"Well, I don't _know_, do I? Obviously I'm not with him."

"_But you were?"_

"Yeah, and then he left."

"_What do you mean _he left_?!"_ He's definitely angry now.

"Don't yell at me! I didn't do anything!"

"_Alright calm down."_ His tone is placating, but it only pisses me off more.

"If I wanted to be calm, I'd be calm!" I look up to see some guys eying me from across the street. This also pisses me off. I seem to be in a bit of a mood. "What the _fuck_ do you want!?" I yell, unleashing the full brunt of my anger at them. They seem a little startled for a moment and then they wander off down the street.

"_I don't want anything,"_ SWCIFD replies in confusion.

"I wasn't talking to you."

"_Who were you talking to?"_

"Some nosey fucks across the street that wouldn't mind their own business. They're gone now."

"_Jesus Christ,"_ he groans. _"You're _outside_ alone?"_

"You know you're asking a _lot_ of questions when you could be driving."

"_Right, okay. Just... be careful alright? Where are you?" _

"Down the street from La Bella Italia."

"_I'm on my way."_

I can't believe he actually agreed.

00000

I doubt Mike's going to tell anyone. If nobody knows and I were to accidentally run Mike over, then nobody would know I had a motive. I could pass it off as an accident. Mike's torso meet Steve's bumper. Mike's head meet the pavement. I bet his big fat head would bounce like a beach ball... a stupid blond, overinflated beach ball.

"Bella?"

I lift my head off my knees enough to see jean clad legs standing a couple feet in front of me. When I sit up properly the rest of him comes into view, including a very amused smirk. Oh God, was I talking out loud? Was I sitting on the curb, head on my knees, playing with my shoelaces, and muttering to myself about hitting Mike with my truck? Maybe I'm the scary weird one.

"Hey," I respond with something between a grimace and an embarrassed smile.

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting?"

"You kind of looked like you were having a breakdown or something."

"Was I talking out loud?"

"No," he chuckles.

"Oh."

"You're just sitting funny... kind of rocking."

"Yeah... I'm cold," I mutter quietly. I hadn't actually realized that I was rocking, so I don't really know why I was doing it, but the cold seems as good a reason as any.

We're both quiet for a moment, and then I blurt out, "Why did you come?"

He looks at me like he's starting to worry about my mental state and then replies, "You called me."

"But... why did you come?"

He crouches down on the road in front of me. "What's the other option? Leave you to brave the big bad city all on your frail and clumsy lonesome? Even I'm not that much of an asshole."

"You're not, are you?" It comes out with a lot more meaning behind it then I'd intended, and I feel a bit foolish until he smiles softly and taps me on the knee with his fist.

"It depends on my mood. I happen to be in a fairly good mood at the moment."

"Lucky me. Where's your car?"

"Over there." He vaguely gestures behind him, and then moves to sit down next to me on the curb.

"Are we going?"

"I was thinking you could tell me how you ended up here first." Shit. I put my head back down against my knees.

"I came with Mike, and we got in a fight." It's a bit muffled by my mouth's close proximity to my legs, but it's clear enough.

"And he left you here?"

"Yes."

"He left _you... here_ on your own."He's starting to sound annoyed again.

"It's really not that big a deal, can we just go?" Okay, it is. It's a _huge_ fucking deal, but I really don't want to talk about it anymore.

"No, it's pretty normal. I know one of my favourite pastimes is leaving teenage girls alone in the middle of the night in unfamiliar towns. I mean you never know what's going to happen. It's like gambling, but with people. S_o_ much more fun."

"Are you done?" I turn my head slightly to peek at him and find him looking at me.

The hard lines of his face relax slightly, and he sighs. "No, but I could probably take a break."

"I'd appreciate that."

There's a long pause, but it's surprisingly comfortable.

"So, I guess the wedding's off then," he says quietly.

"The wedding is _so_ fucking off."

"That's too bad, I really thought you kids had a shot together."

"You know I actually find that _really_ offensive."

He laughs. "Good. About fucking time you showed a little sense."

"I'm perfectly sensible."

"Or so you think," he counters.

"You know that expression about thin ice? Well you're on it."

"Oh really, and what's the metaphorical equivalent of hypothermia?"

"Well..."

"I'm listening."

"I could hit you with my cast," I say, raising the purple wrapped plaster between us.

He knocks on it with his fist. "Yeah, that'd probably hurt."

"Yes, it does."

He looks at me suspiciously and asks, "Do you know that from experience?"

"Why would somebody hit me with a cast? _I'm_ not an asshole."

"I was thinking maybe you hit yourself... accidentally, of course."

"I'm not that clumsy," I mutter sullenly. I'm pretty sure the blush gives away my lie.

"Alright, sorry." He smirks like he knows he's right, but he doesn't call me out on it. I might've actually hit him if he did.

"Yeah, you look really sorry." He turns to me with an exaggerated look of remorse, but it isn't long before it breaks into a laughing smile. I laugh too and look away. "How is it you always seem to appear out of nowhere?"

"Didn't you already ask me this?"

"I believe this would be the third time, and you haven't answered me yet."

"I'm just paying attention is all."

"I was led to believe you didn't do that."

"It's all a matter of interest. Are you hungry?"

"I ate."

"Well, I'm starving. Come on," he says, rising up from the sidewalk and brushing his hands off on his jeans. He offers his hand to me and pulls me up when I take it. "When's the chief expecting you back?"

"We didn't really set a time."

"Alright, then we're going to Roy's."

"Who's Roy?"

00000

I settle into one side of the red vinyl booth in Roy's Diner and take off my coat. It's so warm in here that the large plate glass windows are fogged up almost all the way to the top. The air smells heavily of grease and pie, which is a surprisingly good combination.

I look around us while SWCIFD orders. The place is basically empty except for a few scattered diners. There's a lot of chrome and vinyl, and an extensive collection of old, weather-beaten licence plates on the walls.

"And for you?" The waitress asks, turning towards me.

"I'm not hungry." My stomach feels like a tight ball of knots, there's no way food is going to settle well in there. SWCIFD gives me an appraising look.

"Do you have any apple pie?" Of course he'd ask about apple pie.

"Yeah."

"Bring her some of that, will you?"

"I'm not hungry."

"That's the beauty of pie. You don't eat it because you're hungry." He hands the menus back to the waitress. "That's all, thanks."

"Sure thing."

I'm definitely not imagining the way her hip twitches towards him as she turns, or the exaggerated sway of her hips as she walks towards the counter. SWCIFD, on the other hand, doesn't even seem to notice. He's staring at me.

"That's not very nice," I say teasingly.

"What's that?"

"She's putting on a whole show, and you're not even watching." I gesture towards the girl.

He looks over for a moment with an amused expression, and then he chuckles. "You sound like Emmett... that's a little disturbing."

"Emmett, your... brother?" Does he think of him as his brother?

"That's the only Emmett I've ever met." Apparently he does.

"What's he like?"

"Loud."

"Just _loud_?"

"Yeah that pretty much covers everything. He's just... he has a loud personality. Does that make any sense?"

"I think I know what you mean."

"Well, that's Emmett aka the significant other of the Ice Queen."

"Rosalie?"

"Yeah."

"She seems a bit..." I was going to say something along the lines of _like a major bitch_, but that's probably rude, so I just let it trail off.

"Icy?" That'll work too.

"Yeah."

"Well, she's not completely one-dimensional. I mean she's all ice on the outside, but inside is a deep, endless ocean of lava."

"And lava would be...?"

"Hate."

"I see... so she's ice filled with lava?"

"Yeah, it's really hardcore ice," SWCIFD replies with a smirk.

"Ah."

"Although there are times when the lava melts its way through the ice, and then... I guess she's like a volcano."

"That's a _lot_ of metaphors."

"It got away from me a bit... I was trying to find a nice way of saying she's a hateful bitch, but..."

"I doubt that's possible."

"You're probably right."

"What about the other two?"

"Jasper and Alice? Jasper seems like a stoner, because he's always so calm, and Alice seems like a meth head because she's always so... well, she's a scary little ball of energy."

"She's scary?" I'm trying to imagine the petite girl that twirls around in the parking lot as scary. It's not working.

"She can be... often is, actually. She's like a cute little doll that'll bite your head off in an instant."

"Did you just compare your sister to Chucky?"

"I don't think Chucky ever bit anyone's head off, small mouth you know. Plus he was an ugly little fucker."

"True enough, but you did compare her to a murderous head-eating doll."

"Yes I did, and she's never going to know I did," he says with a pointed look.

"How about this, I'll keep that little comment of yours between us and you don't tell anyone about this whole Mike thing." His eyes narrow at me, his jaw tensing as he stares straight into my eyes. I fight with myself not to look away, but he seems to have reached a whole new level of eye contact intensity.

"Because you want to tell your father yourself?" he asks tersely. He clearly already knows my answer.

"Because he isn't going to know."

"He should know, Bella."

"If he finds out about this, he'll kill Mike."

"And?"

"I don't think they let people keep their jobs in law enforcement after they kill teenage boys."

"Justifiable homicide," SWCIFD says with a smirk. It's supposed to be light-hearted, but it comes out a little forced.

"He's not gonna know."

"He could bury Mike in the spot he scouted out for me. I'll have company."

"Does that mean you're planning on causing trouble?"

"I'm not really the plan type. I prefer spontaneity, at least as far as specifics go."

"Yeah, well, intentional lack of foresight aside, you might want to consider that your company would be Mike Newton, and you don't seem all that fond of him. Think of it like this, you could end up buried on top of him. You'd be spending the rest of eternity lying on top of Mike, your rotting flesh and bodily fluids mingling with his. Then you become skeletons and your ribs are all mixed up with his, and your pelvises are touching, and eventually, you become dirt and you can't even tell the two of you apart anymore."

"You've really got a way with words, you know that?" he quips. I almost laugh at his grimace of disgust. I've got to say, I feel a little proud.

The waitress comes back and puts our food down in front of us. She's just about to turn away when she notices SWCIFD's expression.

"Are you alright? You look like you're gonna throw up."

"He's fine," I answer when he fails to acknowledge her question. "I think he's just in shock."

"From what?"

I open my mouth to reply, but SWCIFD cuts me off. "Don't say it again."

I use my good hand to stifle my laugh, SWCIFD looks like he's fighting not to gag, and the waitress looks at us like we're deranged before she walks away.

"Are you going to be alright?" I ask, trying not to laugh, because he really does look like he's going to be sick.

"Why would you say that?" He looks down at his cheeseburger and fries forlornly.

"You're the one that brought up burial arrangements."

"Yeah, but I'm not the one that decided to get all graphic about it."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Pelvises touching!"

The guy sitting at the counter with a newspaper turns around to look at us in alarm.

"Umm... maybe you could not yell."

"That's what you said, pelvises touching. You made it dirty in a _really_ nasty way."

"I didn't mean it _that_ way. I was just talking about dead bodies."

"Pelvises touching..."

"Would you stop saying that," I snap.

"... lying on top of him, mixing bodily fluids... _bodily fluids_."

I stare at him in horror for a few moments, mouth hanging open, before I gather myself enough to speak.

"That was _not_... I didn't... _ew_."

"Exactly!"

"That wasn't where I was going with that at _all_."

"But you still implied it."

"What? Dead sex with _Mike_? Oh God,that's disgusting." Now I'm the one fighting not to gag. Why the fuck are we having this conversation? "Why did you have to bring that up? I was just talking about rotting corpses."

"I'm sorry."

"You are not."

"No, I'm not," he laughs. Bastard. "I actually feel much better now."

"You know what? I may have said some... questionable things, but you're the one that made it nasty. That was not _my_ brain jumping to necrophilia, okay? That was you."

SWCIFD rolls his eyes at me, and says, "Eat your pie."

"I'm not hungry." I wasn't hungry before and I'm certainly not hungry now.

"I already told you, you don't eat pie because you're hungry."

"Then why do you eat it?"

"Pie makes people happy."

"Oh wow. So, all we need is enough pie for everyone on earth and we've got world peace. No wonder beauty queens never accomplish it."

"I said happy not peaceful. Some people enjoy violence." I cock an eyebrow at him. "Not _me_... other people... crazy people. People who are not me. Eat your pie," he instructs, pointing a fry at me in a surprisingly menacing fashion.

"I don't want to."

"It's not a request."

"You're ordering me?"

"No, it's more of a suggestion. You should really eat it if you want a ride."

"Oh, so it's blackmail."

"For your own good."

"How very considerate of you," I reply snidely. I pick up my fork with my left hand and start picking at the slice of pie in front of me. It's actually really good, and the cold vanilla ice cream seems to be helping my unsettled stomach.

A couple minutes later SWCIFD leans forward and says, "You know that's you right?"

"What?"

"The ringing... that's you." It takes a couple seconds before my brain finally puts what he said together with the muffled ringing that's been going off just outside of my awareness.

"Oh!" I grab my coat and dig my phone out of the inner pocket. I get it in my hand just as it goes quiet. "It stopped."

"They tend to do that when you don't answer them," he laughs.

"Smartass."

My phone starts ringing again almost immediately. I stare at it.

"Do you need me to press the answer button for you?"

"I think I've got it, thanks." I feel like sticking out my tongue at him, but I answer the phone instead. "Hello?"

"_Oh, thank God!"_

"Jess?"

"_You nearly gave me a heart attack! Why the fuck didn't you answer your phone? I thought you were dead. If you hadn't picked up this time, I was gonna call the police. Jesus Christ, Bella!"_

"Calm down, I'm fine."

"_You're _fine_? In what sense are you fine? I swear to God I'm gonna kill Mike tomorrow. I've got half a mind to go over there right now and wring his fucking neck."_

"Wow, you're scary when you're mad."

"_I'm sorry. I shouldn't be venting all this at you, but as soon as he told me what happened I hung up on him to get a hold of you, so I didn't get to let it out. Do you need me to come pick you up?"_

"No, I've already got a ride. I'm fine."

"_Are you sure?"_

"Yes. I promise I'm fine."

"_Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Mike, on the other hand, may never be seen again after I get through with him."_

"Wear gloves." SWCIFD looks at me questioningly. I shake my head.

Jess laughs lightly. _"Good looking out."_

"No problem. Just... don't tell anyone about this, alright?"

"_You realize you're asking me to go against my very nature, don't you?"_

"Come on, you can do it."

"_Well of course I can, but do I have to?"_

"Please, Jess."

She sighs heavily, and then makes an annoyed sound in the back of her throat. _"Fine, but only because you've had a crappy night."_

"Thank you."

"_Yeah, yeah. I have to go kill a certain idiot now. I have a curfew, you know."_

"I promise I'll give you an alibi if they ever find the body."

"_You better. Alright, I'll talk to you tomorrow."_

"Bye."

"What was that about?"

I look up at SWCIFD. Maybe I should've given him the phone and made him talk to Jess. I do feel I should do something for her after she offered to drive an hour each way at nine on a school night. That might've given her a heart attack though.

"Mike told Jess something about what happened. She was calling to check on me."

He nods and takes another bite of his burger. I'll pay the bill. Now I just have to figure out what to do for Jess.

"Can I ask you a favour?" He looks up at me wearily, scrutinizing my face while he finishes chewing.

"What kind of favour?"

"Simple, very simple."

"You can ask, I can't guarantee I'll agree."

"Okay... you know my friend Jess that walks me to your car after school?"

"Yeah."

"Umm... tomorrow when she says _hi_ to you... do you think you could say _hi_ back?"

"You want me to say _hi_?"

"Yep."

"_Seriously_?"

"Yeah."

"That's it?"

"Uh huh."

"You start talking about a favour, you act like you're about to ask me for a kidney or something, and then you say you want me to give someone a one word greeting?"

"I feel the kidney comment was fairly hyperbolous, but I agree with the rest."

"Hyperbolous isn't a word."

"It is too... I think it is anyway. It sounds like it's a word."

"I think you're supposed to say hyperbolic."

"I prefer hyperbolous."

"That's not a word."

"I don't care. You knew what I meant, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I'll say _hi_ to your friend." Well, that's a subtle subject change.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'm sure I'll manage somehow." He says it mockingly, like he hasn't been avoiding saying a single word to her since he started driving me.

We go back to eating in silence for a while, and I start thinking about the argument I had with Mike. I avoided this while I was waiting by indulging in violent revenge fantasies, but I'm really not in the mood to imagine running him over with my truck anymore, so I'm kind of stuck with it.

I suppose I haven't said anything particularly revealing, and I can't really think of any serious conversations we've had. How exactly does one segue from _I watched a great movie this weekend_ or _I really hate math_ to _sometimes I worry that I'm going to end up spending the rest of my life alone because I take after my reclusive father more than my gregarious mother_? Maybe that's deeper then he was thinking, but I can't really see myself blurting out that my mom is my best friend or that I'm starting to think I prefer this rainy climate because I don't have to constantly worry about sunburns. I can't think of anything personal he's told me, but maybe that's because I never offered anything. Although that's completely circular logic, because I could say that I never said anything because he didn't offer anything.

Maybe they don't really know me. Does anybody?

"What's that face for?" SWCIFD asks with a bit of a laugh.

"What?"

"Your face is all scrunched up."

"Oh, I was... umm... do you ever wonder if you're surrounded by people who don't actually _know_ you?"

I can't believe I just asked that. He was in the middle of lifting a fry from the puddle of ketchup on his plate and now it's frozen in place like the rest of him; the only thing that changed was his expression. I have no idea what his expression is supposed to be saying though.

"Forget it, it's stupid," I mutter quickly, feeling that infuriatingly familiar heat creep across my cheeks. I look down and start portioning what's left of my pie into bite sized pieces. It's possible I'm a bit anal-retentive.

"I don't have to wonder, I know," he responds a couple moments later.

"Oh, right." Of course he does.

"My family's pretty good about... knowing me, though." I guess blurting things out _is_ how you start a serious conversation, because I seem to have gotten myself into one. In for a penny, in for a pound.

"My mom usually gets me, in her own crazy way... I think. I'm not even sure anymore. My dad too, sometimes."

"Where's this coming from?"

I let out a deep breath. "It's recently been brought to my attention that I speak without actually saying anything."

"That's quite a feat."

"Well, I'm special like that. See that, right there? That's the problem. I never say anything important, because I'm being facetious all the time. Maybe I should stop doing that."

"Just because you don't say it, doesn't mean it isn't there to be learned." What the fuck does that mean?

"That was really cryptic."

"Alright, you want me to be blunt, I'll be blunt. I think it's kind of ridiculous that you would consider changing the way you talk because some asshole told you it makes it difficult to know you. If he really wanted to know you, he'd put the effort in. Also, there's more to knowing a person then listening to what they say; if he can't figure that out it's his problem."

I look directly at him and he holds eye contact with me. I'm getting this feeling like maybe _he_ gets me, which is stupid because he barely even knows me, but it's a comforting feeling nonetheless.

"You're just worried I'll stop being amusing," I tease. I've had enough serious for one night.

"Well, there's that too," he replies with a smirk. The tension in my body seems to just drain away with the close of that topic. "Finish your pie."

I stick my tongue out at him. He just shakes his head and laughs at me.

I'm actually glad I called him, Dad's protectiveness and possession of a loaded gun aside. Anyone else would've just driven me home, and probably felt sorry for me. I really hate pity. He's just hungry, and honest, and... angry, which really doesn't bother me. I can empathize, and so can he apparently. He actually seems really good at that.

Fuck, I don't think I can call him SWCIFD anymore. I'm going to have to start calling him Edward.

That's going to take some getting used to.

**A/N:** Just so everyone knows, I'm going to be away from Friday to Monday with little, if any, access to the internet, so if you leave a review or visit one of the threads and I don't reply until Monday or later that's why, but I will catch up.

Addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads are on my profile page.


	13. Bracelets and Black Eyes

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net), Denise, and camerasarelying (lj).

**Bracelets and Black Eyes **

As I stand in the kitchen eating my cereal, I think about how glad I am that Dad leaves for work before I get up in the morning. Last night I'd avoided his _How was your night?_ with something vague like_ Fine, but I'm really tired_, and then went directly to my room. Hopefully his interest in my night will have passed by the time he gets home tonight. Hopefully Mike will make ignoring him as easy as he did yesterday between the hostage situation and the disaster of epic proportions.

00000

SWCIFD... Edward is quiet in the car, kind of distracted, but not unfriendly. He seems to be thinking something over, so I try to figure out how I'm going to get everything done that's due before Christmas break starts.

"I'm starting to think teachers are sadists."

"What?" he asks, turning to me with a slightly alarmed look on his face.

"I think they purposefully taint our excitement about upcoming school breaks by making everything due right before."

"And why would they do that?"

"Because they're _sadists_," I reiterate impatiently.

"Are you having some scheduling issues, Bella?"

"I'm having some _I don't want to spend all week doing homework_ issues."

"And that leads you to believe all teachers are sadists?"

"Not _all_ teachers. My mom's a teacher. She's very nice... for a teacher."

"Your mom's a teacher?"

"Yup, she teaches elementary school art. Sometimes she does a homeroom class, but it varies by the year. She's not working right now though." The last part comes out with a bit of an edge to it, but I don't think he notices.

"Are you close?"

"Yeah, she's always been more like a sister than a mom... not always an older sister."

He makes an amused noise as he turns into a parking spot and shuts off the engine. I climb out and hitch my tote bag onto my shoulder. Scanning the parking lot for He Who Must Be Avoided, I notice Emmett watching me in what I would characterize as an appraising manner.

"Your brother's staring at me."

"Which one?" Edward asks, coming to stand beside me by the trunk of his car.

"The big one."

"Yes he is." He catches Emmett's attention and then raises his hands in a silent question. Emmett smiles widely at him and starts off towards the school.

"What was that about?"

"Oh, he's just... curious."

"About?"

"Well... Emmett's a bit of a caveman."

"Meaning?" I feel like I should start poking him every time he gives me a non-answer. Maybe that would inspire a slightly more straightforward style of speech. Plus it'd probably be fun... for me.

"Meaning he has a fairly simple outlook on life. So now he's trying to figure out why I skipped out on dinner to drive to Port Angeles when there wasn't any sex involved."

"Did you tell him you got food? That might clear some things up for him."

"That probably would actually. I should've told him that."

"What did you tell him?" I ask.

"I quoted Shakespeare. _T__here are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy_."

"Why?"

"Because it pisses him off," he replies, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. His smirk is absolutely evil.

00000

Jess gives me a small smile as I walk to the cafeteria table. I smile back and take the empty seat next to her.

"You okay?" she asks me quietly.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"So, Bella... do anything interesting after school yesterday?" Tyler asks, badly feigning a casual tone.

"Not too much, you?"

"Didn't I hear you were going to The Port with Mike... or something?"

Jess is glaring daggers at him, but Tyler's so focused on looking disinterested that he doesn't notice.

"Yeah, we hung out for a while," I reply dismissively.

"Oh, cool. So, do you have any plans for this weekend?"

"Saturday I'm hanging out with Jake while our dad's go fishing, and Sunday I'm planning to put a dent in that mammoth of a history project."

"Oh shit, I completely forgot about that one," Jess moans, dropping her head into her hands.

"I haven't even started it yet, I'm sure you'll be fine," I say.

"Yeah, I guess. God, I really hate school."

"Anyone got plans for the break?" Angie asks.

"Oh you know, eat... open presents. That's pretty much it so far," Tyler replies.

"Dude, you're totally failing to comprehend how awesome it was," Eric says excitedly, pulling a chair out on the other side of the table.

"Shut the fuck up, man," Mike grumbles. I'm not looking at him, because I'm ignoring him, but from the sounds I can tell that he jerks the chair away from the table and then drops into it heavily. Somebody isn't happy today.

"Holy shit! What happened to you?" Tyler asks.

I look up, because it's really hard to ignore someone when people start saying things like that about them. Mike has a giant, nasty looking black/purple bruise around his right eye and a cut on his swollen lips.

"Nothing I'm fine," he mutters quietly, wincing slightly as his mouth moves. Jesus Christ I thought Jess was joking about using violence. At the very least I thought she was being really hyperbolous... that's totally a word.

I look over at Jess in surprise. She looks back at me, eyes wide with shock as she slowly shakes her head.

"Maybe nobody's mentioned this to you, but you've got one hell of a black eye," Tyler says.

Eric laughs gleefully, and explains, "Edward decked him in the hall."

"What!?" That was loud. That was _way_ too loud. I flush red immediately, and do my best to avoid looking around me, so I can't see if anyone at the surrounding tables is staring at me. On the plus side, if anyone looks over here their attention will probably be drawn to the giant shiner Mike's sporting, and not to the tomato of a girl sitting across the table.

"Why?" Tyler asks.

Eric shrugs. "No idea. We were just walking down the hall this morning and Edward passed us going the other way, and suddenly..." he makes a sharp punching motion against his other hand, "Mike's down for the count, and then he hit him again, at least two more times. It was brutal." He says _brutal_ like it's a synonym for awesome, maybe really awesome given his expression.

"Are you alright?" Angie asks.

"I'm fine."

"We spent most of the morning in the nurse's office."

"Why were _you_ there?" Jess asks.

"My friend was injured. I felt he could use some support."

"You mean you wanted to skip your morning classes and the nurse let you get away with it."

"Yeah that works, too."

"Why is he still in school?" Angie asks.

I look over to his family's table. He is still here. Shit, he's probably going to get suspended or something. I turn back to find Jess looking at me questioningly. I shrug, and start fidgeting with my lunch.

"Mike didn't tell them it was him." Thank God.

"He's a _psycho_. I didn't even do anything to the guy and he _attacked_ me. I have no intention of pissing him off."

What pissed him off this time? I mean I know he was upset with Mike last night, but he wouldn't do this... would he? _Did_ he? How the fuck do I feel about that?

00000

"Bella!" Mike yells from behind me, again. I quickly try to figure out if I really need to stop at my locker or if I can just go straight to my class and hope I lose him on the way. Fuck, we both have biology. Maybe if I get there and Edward's already there Mike'll leave me alone. Screw the locker.

"Bella, wait," he says breathlessly when he catches up with me. "Please just wait."

"What do you want, Mike?" I snap, without stopping.

"Look, I know I screwed up, and I'm _really_ sorry. It's inexcusable, and I won't ask you to forgive me, but I will apologize every day... or completely leave you alone, whatever you want until you decide you want to forgive me... or not, your choice."

I want to yell, maybe say something really rude with a lot of curse words in it, but from the look of his face I think he's suffered enough already. Forgiveness makes you a better person or something, right? Why can't being malicious and spiteful make you a better person? That seems like it'd be a lot more fun. Who makes up these fucking rules? Are they rules or sayings... maybe they're just platitudes. I fucking hate platitudes.

"Bella?"

"Yeah?"

"You haven't said anything," Mike says.

"Oh right, umm... I don't want you to do either of those things."

"Uh... what would you like me to do?" He says it cautiously, like he's afraid he's setting himself up for something along the lines of _I'd like you to drop dead_.

"Can we just... be friends, just friends, and never talk about last night again?" I could probably live without being a better person, but I don't make friends easily and somehow I've managed to make some here. He happens to be a part of that group and aside from last night he's been a pretty good guy. Also conflict makes me nauseous.

"Yeah... really?"

"Yes, but if you _ever_ pull a stunt like that again..."

"I won't _ever,_ I promise."

"You better not. You really don't want to face off with my truck, Mike."

His eyes go wide for a moment, and then he smiles, and then he winces because his face is all fucked up. "You're kinda hot when you're angry."

"Mike." I think I just growled. Crap, my throat hurts.

"I'm just stating a fact in a completely platonic way."

"Yeah, well I think maybe you should look up the word platonic before you go spouting anymore _facts._"

"Will do."

"Great, just... go away."

"I can do that," he says happily, before he walks past me to class. I guess there's no reason to avoid my locker now.

I'm rooting through the jumble of crap in the bottom, looking for my book to read in gym class when something suddenly touches my elbow. I jump a little bit and turn around quickly to find Alice standing in front of me with a huge smile on her face.

"Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I'm Alice.... Edward's sister."

"Right, yeah... um, I'm Bella."

"I know."

I have no idea what to say so there's a bit of a pause that basically consists of me staring at her dumbly while she beams at me. It's a little unsettling. I shift my gaze past her and find Jasper leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway. He's watching Alice with an amused smile.

Alice reaches into her jacket pocket, and holds up a bracelet. It's a very small bracelet.

"I found this in Edward's car. I was wondering if it was yours."

"No, it's... no." I don't even think it would fit around my wrist.

"Okay, it's probably Rosalie's. She's always... losing things."

"Is she?" Edward asks, coming to stand beside Alice. He looks at the bracelet and then her face with a raised eyebrow.

Alice's smile doesn't fade, but it goes a little wonky like she's forcing it to stay on. "Well, you know her. She's so busy looking for a reflective surface other things go unnoticed."

"Hmm, I think Jasper's waiting for you, Allie," he says in a sickly sweet voice.

"He is indeed, Eddie." She glares at him, but she's smiling when she turns to me. "It was nice to _finally_ meet you, Bella."

"You too."

Alice wraps her arms around me lightly for a second. Before I can even think to react she's skipping towards Jasper.

Edward and Jasper share a look and then they both start chuckling. Jasper throws his arm around Alice and walks her down the hall.

"That was her bracelet, wasn't it?"

He looks at me with surprise, and then smiles. "Yes, it was."

"Alright then," I laugh. I slam my locker shut, and we start walking towards class.

"So... what did she say?" Edward asks nervously.

"Not much."

"But what _specifically_?"

"What are you worried about?"

He runs his hands roughly through his hair, before answering. "Alice tends to be a bit... forward." What, does he think she was going to hit on me?

"Meaning?"

"She's not one for pleasantries. She has a tendency of saying things to people she just met, that she probably shouldn't."

"Such as?"

"When Esme first brought her and Jasper home she told me _you have very interesting hair, if you didn't look so sullen I'd think you just got laid_."

"Seriously?"

"Yup."

"She didn't say anything like that to me."

"Lucky you."

"Wait, Jasper and Alice came here at the same time?"

"Yeah, Em used to call them 2fer, but then he did it in front of Esme. He never did again after that, oddly enough."

"I thought they came close together, but separately." I think that's what Jess said.

"No, they ended up at the same place, and then Alice contacted Esme and Carlisle because she heard they adopted photosensitive kids." Edward laughs and shakes his head. "They both came at the same time, but Jasper wasn't put in school right away."

"How did they end up at the same place?"

"That's a question you should probably ask Alice," he says as we walk into the biology room.

It isn't until I notice some kids at the front sneaking not so subtle looks at Mike that I remember Edward apparently went to town on his face in the hallway. How the hell did I forget that?

I impatiently wait until we start on a lab, before I ask, "Did you punch Mike?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." I was expecting something vague or one of those facetious answers he uses to get out of telling me things, maybe even an outright denial. I was not at all prepared for his simple affirmative answer. "Why?"

"He dented my car." What?

"And you saw him do this?"

"No, but his car was next to mine, and there's a dent in my door." I can't tell if he's being serious or not.

"Seems like a bit of an overreaction."

"Well, it's not like _the car_ was going to call him out on it." Yeah, we're definitely not talking about the car.

I look over at Mike's face and then down at Edward's right hand. It doesn't look all that great either.

"You hurt your hand."

"He's got a hard head."

"You should go to the nurse's office, get some ice to put on that."

"Although I suppose he'd have to, otherwise his skull would collapse into the big empty space underneath."

"Your hand is swollen." It looks kind of bruised and cut up too.

"It's fine."

"It doesn't look fine."

"Looks can be deceiving."

I poke his knuckles and his hand jerks away.

"I think that's a pretty good indicator of the truth." I probably sound a little too smug, but whatever.

Edward looks at me for a second and then sighs. "Mr. Banner," he calls out suddenly. "I need to go to the nurse's office."

"Ah... oh, okay." That's it? No questions? No arguments?

"I need someone to go with me. Maybe Isabella could do it... since she can't do the lab anyway." I look over at him in surprise and find the evil smirk is back in full force. Son of a bitch.

"Isabella, would you mind going with Edward to the nurse's office?"

"Sure."

I wait until we're a ways down the hall, before I say, "You're very happy with yourself, aren't you?"

"Yes, yes I am." Smug bastard. I swear to God he's swaggering a little bit.

"Where are you going?" I ask when he turns the other way down the hallway.

"The cafeteria." He takes another turn and pushes through the double doors.

"Didn't you just eat?"

"I don't want food. I want ice. Wasn't that your whole point, that I need ice?"

"That was part of my point. My whole point was that you should go to the nurse."

"And say what? I tripped and landed on my fist? I don't think it'd take long for her to figure out there was a connection with the black eye she dealt with earlier."

"You could get an infection." How exactly did I end up being the one that cares about this?

"It'll be fine. I'll clean it out when I get home," he says before he walks up to the lunch counter, and starts talking to one of the women working there. It's kind of odd to see him talking to someone outside of his family. He actually seems like he's being friendly, and... oh my God.

He walks back towards me with a bundle wrapped in paper towel in his hand. He stops short when he looks at me.

"What?" he asks self-consciously.

"Did you just _flirt_ with the lunch lady?"

"What? No."

"You totally did."

"I did not. I was just being polite."

"Polite does not make grown women blush."

"You blush all the time."

"I'm only three-quarters grown." Hopefully I'll grow out of it.

"How does that work?"

"Somewhere between 23 and 27 I become full grown, and then it stays constant."

"Where do you get this stuff from?"

"I've had some very interesting conversations with my mom."

"And it was decided that you're three-quarters grown?"

"Actually, it was decided that I was half grown, but that was a few years ago."

He stares at me for a moment before saying, "You're a very odd... three-quarter woman."

"Three-quarters _grown_... I'm completely woman, thank you very much."

"Well, that's good to know," he laughs. "Come on."

I follow him out of the cafeteria and down some halls, until we get to one of those weird dead-end ones. He sits on the floor against the wall, and I lean against the wall next to him.

"So, what do you need me here for?" I ask.

"I can't loiter in the halls on my own. That's just weird."

"I'm going back to class."

"Nope." He grabs my wrist and pulls me down to sit next to him. His hand is cold from holding the ice.

"You're pushy."

"I prefer to think of myself as proactive." He unwraps the paper towel, and puts the plastic baggie full of ice against his hand.

"Proactive means you go out and get things done. Pushy means you make people do what you want. You're pushy."

"How about we compromise with proactively pushy?"

"Adding _proactively_ doesn't change what pushy means," I counter. "You really should go to the nurse, you know."

"If I go to the nurse's office I'll get in trouble."

"Well then maybe you shouldn't have punched a guy at school."

"Yeah, I probably should've waited until after, but I might not have found him, and then I'd have to wait until Monday... it would've been a whole thing."

"Or you could not punch anybody."

"Well, let's not be ridiculous."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want to be _that._"

00000

"Mostly I just yelled at him. I may've thrown something at him too, but I'm not really sure," Jess says as she walks me across the parking lot. "I wonder why Edward hit him. I mean he's hit people before, but he's always had a reason. Do you think it had anything to do with... he doesn't know about that though. There must've been some reason."

"I have no idea." I really hope that sounded more believable to her than it did to me.

"Do you think you could ask him?"

"I don't know... probably not my business."

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

We fall silent as we get closer to the car. Is he going to do it? I really don't want to have to bug him about it, but he did say he would.

"Hi, Edward," Jess greets, name hitch and all.

He looks at me for a second, seeming a bit hesitant. I smile in what I hope is an encouraging way, but it may have come out more _just do it_.

"Hi." It's a simple word said in a flat tone, but it has quite the impact. Jess freezes, her eyes go wide, and her mouth opens and closes a few times before she turns suddenly, and practically runs away. Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

"Is she alright?" Edward asks. Well, I think that just freaked him right the fuck out.

"Yeah, ah..." She's pretty obsessed with you, so she's kinda overwhelmed right now. Yeah, that's definitely the way to go. "She got hit on the head during gym; I think she's a little out of it."

"Maybe she should see a doctor." That would probably be a good idea.

"She'll be fine. She just needs some time to recover."

"That was very disconcerting."

"I'm a little weirded out myself." I really need to change the subject. "So, where's this dent?"

"What? Oh, passenger side." I walk around the car to look at the side.

"Mike's car isn't next to yours."

"Not anymore."

"I don't see a dent."

"You have to know what you're looking for."

"I know what a dent looks like." Steve has a lot of them.

"I'm sure you've taken out enough inanimate objects to be familiar, but this is a very specific kind of dent."

"Really?"

"Only happens in Volvos. Do you know anything about Volvos?" You've got to be kidding me.

"No."

"Well, there you go."

"You're so full of shit."

00000

I'm in the kitchen, trying to use a can opener with one hand, when the phone starts ringing.

"Hello?"

"_Did you see that?!"_ I flinch at the high pitch Jess's voice has reached.

"What? What happened?"

"_He said _hi_."_

"Oh, yeah."

"_I mean what does that even _mean_?"_

"I think it means _hello_."

"_I really wish I'd said something, anything, but I just couldn't think. God I must've looked like a crazy person."_

"I really don't think it was that bad." Now who's full of shit?

"_Yeah right, I gape at him like a fish for a while and then run off without saying a word. I'm sure he thinks that's really normal."_

"You know he's not very observant; he might not even have noticed."

"_You think?"_

"He never said anything about it." Good friends tell white lies, right?

"_Oh... maybe it wasn't so bad."_

"No, not at all."

"_Really?"_

"Totally."

"_Alright... I'll talk to you later."_

"Bye, Jess."

I hang up the phone and go back to this can issue. I really need to get this bastard open. How can you use a manual can opener with one hand? Clearly I need a strategy. Maybe there are instructions or something on the internet. There's all kinds of weird shit on there.

The phone starts ringing again. I'm a little more cautious before I answer it this time. I don't want to damage my hearing with repeated exposure to high pitch shrieking.

"Hello?"

"_Bella! How's my baby girl doing in the dreary wilds of Forks?"_ It's kind of ridiculous how happy hearing my mom's voice makes me.

"I'm good, mom. How about you?"

"_Great. I took this seminar on making beaded picture frames the other day. The examples this woman had done were absolutely beautiful, you should've seen them. I think I'm going to make one for, um... you know that picture of us at the botanical gardens when you were little, and you're wearing that pretty red dress your grandma gave you?"_

"I remember."

"_Well, I was thinking if I could find little beads the same colour as that dress I could make one for that picture. It's one of my favourites, you know."_

"You'll have to send me pictures."

"_Of course. But I wanted to talk to you about your Christmas break. It starts next week, right?"_

"Yup."

"_Okay, now I know we talked about Phil and I going away, but I've been thinking about it, and I just don't think it'll feel like Christmas without you. So, how would you feel about flying to Phoenix and spending your break with us?"_

"Umm..." I want to go. Christmas wouldn't feel right without our traditions, but I don't want to abandon Dad. I can't drag him along and make him spend time with the lovebirds. That's just cruel. I suppose Christmas doesn't have to be _on_ Christmas though. "I'd love to Mom... although I think it might be best if I just came for the first week, and then I can do something here with Dad."

"_Okay. I'm so excited to see you again. I can't believe how long it's been. I really miss you, baby."_

"I miss you too, Mom."

Now I just have to figure out what I'm going to do with Dad.

**A/N:**Addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads are on my profile page.


	14. Rudolph, Ladybugs and the Christmas

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net), and Denise.

**Rudolph, Ladybugs and the Christmas Cactus**

"Whose car is that, again?" I ask, jamming my hands between my thighs in an attempt to warm them up. It's dry and we're out of the wind, but it's still pretty cold in Jake's car shed, despite the space heater humming away in the corner.

"It's Quill's mom's car. I'm pretty sure she bought it before he was born."

"And what's wrong with it?"

"Do you actually care?" Jake asks, turning away from the open hood to look at me.

"No."

"So, why are you asking?"

"I don't know." I had been trying to segue into _When will you be fixing my car?,_ but obviously that didn't work out.

"When do you get your cast off?"

"End of Christmas break."

"I bet you're pretty excited for that."

"It'll be nice to be able to use my dominant hand... then I can finally start driving again." Well, that was sort of subtle.

"I guess I should see about getting that rust bucket of yours hauled up here."

"Hey, don't bad mouth my truck. It has character."

"Sure, sure."

"Do you think you can have it done by the time school starts up again?"

"I'm sure I could manage it. I bet you're pretty excited about not needing a ride, too."

"It'll be nice to be able to drive," I hedge. I'd really rather this conversation didn't become about Edward.

"Especially considering the alternative," he says.

I bite my lip, and quickly search for a new topic. "I'm going to Phoenix for Christmas."

"Yeah, your dad mentioned that."

"So, I was thinking after I get back I'd do a belated Christmas dinner with everyone."

"Who's everyone?"

"Well, you guys, if you want to come, and I was thinking of inviting some people from school."

"The AF?" he asks with a smirk.

"Of course."

"Sounds good... I'm not going to have to cook anything am I?"

"I'd really rather you didn't."

00000

This is a good idea. This _is_ a good idea.

Or maybe this is a really stupid idea... damn it; I bet it is.

"Bella?"

"Hey Dad." I don't turn to look at him as he enters the kitchen; instead I keep staring at the food on the counter in front of me, frozen by my indecision. Good idea or stupid idea? Carry on or clean up the counter and forget about it?

"Why are you up?"

Right, I woke up early for this. Fuck it, I didn't get up early for nothing.

"I'm making a lunch."

"I thought you bought your lunch."

"Yeah, I just thought... this would be a nice change." A nice gesture. "I wouldn't count on it happening too often though. I'm definitely not a morning person."

"You get used to it."

"I'd rather not, thanks."

"Someday you may discover the joy that is fishing, and you'll find yourself motivated to get up with the sun," Dad says, pulling a cereal box out of the cupboard.

"Never gonna happen."

"Well, I tried."

"That you did. My father, ever the optimist."

00000

I get into Edward's car feeling like I might throw up, which he probably wouldn't appreciate. Deep breaths help a bit, but I wouldn't exactly call myself calm.

"What's up with you?" he asks, giving me an appraising look.

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, you don't seem stressed out at all."

"I'm not stressed out. I'm just unsure."

"About?"

"I'm going to do something weird... well I've already done most of it, but I haven't done the part where other people _know_ I've done something weird... yet," I say quickly.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

I sigh and pull my bag into my lap. Hugging it close to my body, I mutter, "I have something for you."

He's quiet for a moment, staring curiously at my bag, before asking, "Am I supposed to guess?"

"Why would I want you to guess?"

"You seem to be waiting for something."

"I told you I was unsure about this."

"It's not something creepy is it?" His eyes are trained on the bag, a slight look of dread on his face.

"Like what?"

"I don't know."

"Why would I give you something creepy? Do you think I'm the kind of person that goes around doing creepy things?" I've gone from nervous to defensive. This is not the way to go about this.

"No, but all this _weird_ talk is starting to freak me out."

"The thing itself isn't weird. I'm just worried that my doing it might be sort of... weird." I'm already being weird. This is becoming a bit of a disaster.

"You're really not helping with the freaking out."

"Right, umm... I made you lunch." I reach into my bag and pull out a brown paper bag, plunking it onto his lap.

He stares down at it for a moment, and then looks up at me. "So... why?"

"It's just... thank you."

"You made me lunch?"

"Yeah. You don't have to eat it, I just thought..."

"I'll eat it. I just can't believe you made me lunch, in a brown paper bag no less. That's so June Cleaver."

"Who?"

"The mom from _Leave it to Beaver._" From the fifties?

"Why do you know that?"

"I'm not really sure," he says, and then he looks down at the bag again. "Thank you for this. Maybe I should punch people more often."

"It's not for the punching. I don't approve of the punching. It's for... everything else." God, this is so fucking weird.

"You liked the punching," he says with a confident nod.

"Violence is never the answer, Edward," I reply in my best prim voice.

"Maybe not, but it feels pretty good sometimes." I can't _not_ smile, because... yeah alright I loved the punching.

"That's what I thought," he says when he catches sight of my smile. "I won't tell." He finishes with a wink, and my heart motherfucking skips. What the hell was that?

We're both silent as he puts the bag behind his seat and starts up the car.

"So, you cook?" he asks a few moments later.

"Yup."

"One handed?"

"I don't really have a choice."

"Do you cook often?"

"Every day for years. My dad can barely even microwave, and my mom... well, she cooks but it's not pretty."

Edward chuckles and says, "We have a schedule for cooking at my house. Each of us do three days a month, and the rest switch between Carlisle and Esme. They and Jasper are pretty good, but Emmett only does red meat, Rosalie always makes these salads that are low-fat and full of all kinds of weird not-salad ingredients, and Alice burns everything because she's got the attention span of a goldfish for things outside of her interests. It's a bit of a horror show."

"What about you?"

"I make hamburgers, and that's pretty much it. Good hamburgers, though."

"Do you like cooking?"

"I don't mind doing it, but it gets kind of boring after a while."

"It might help if you didn't make the same thing every time."

"Yeah... that sounds like effort though. How about you, do you like cooking?"

"I really do. To be honest I was pretty ecstatic when I found out that my dad doesn't cook. It makes me feel... useful. I find it very calming."

"And I'm guessing you make more than one thing."

"Yes, I make lots of things."

"Maybe you'll have to teach me how to make something other than burgers sometime," he says with a quick look out of the corner of his eye.

"I could probably do that. Assuming you have more patience with cooking than you do with driving."

"I'm a very patient driver."

"If you were you'd obey the speed limits, which you clearly don't do."

"I drive fast because it's fun. I don't think you can get an adrenaline rush from cooking quickly."

"Depends on how many things you have going at once."

"Well there you go. Cooking might be more fun than I thought." I smile in response.

He pulls into a spot at school, and gets the bag from the backseat.

"You do realize I may have to fight Emmett because of this, right?" He holds up the bag to emphasise what _this_ is.

"What?"

"Emmett steals food. He's bad enough about cafeteria food, but _real_ food... this may be epic." Right, his family's going to know about this. What are they going to think?

"Apparently you're good at punching people."

"Yeah, but that was Mike. We're talking about Emmett. He knows how to punch back."

"I really don't want you to get punched over this."

"I'm sure it won't come to that. I'm much faster than he is. Plus, he sits at the other side of the table. I'll see him coming. If I'm really lucky Rosalie will be wearing a particularly low-cut top today and he won't even know I'm at the table."

"Well, you can always hope."

00000

"... but my mom says I don't have to come to school on Friday, because we fly out early Saturday," Mike says. His black and purple eye has gained a touch of green over the weekend. It's really pretty gross. He's probably not the best person to sit across from at lunch.

"You're lucky you get to go away. It'll be a miracle if I make it as far as Seattle over the break," Tyler laments.

"You're going away aren't you, Bella?" Angie asks.

"Yeah, I'm going to Phoenix for a week to visit my mom."

"When are you flying out?"

"Saturday afternoon. I'm really not looking forward to trying to get through the airport."

"I'm so jealous. I've never been anywhere _really_ warm," Tyler says.

"It's supposed to be cold and snowy at Christmas. Being somewhere sunny and warm just seems wrong," Angie says.

"That's a wrong I'd be willing to live with," Tyler jokes. "You wouldn't happen to have any extra room in your suitcase would you? I'm a very good guest."

"Sorry Tyler, I don't really feel like being caught with a stowaway in my luggage. I'm sure there's something about that that could get me arrested."

"Fine, but when my parents take us skiing, you can forget about me hiding you in the truck."

"I'm alright with that."

"Oh Jesus, Bella on skis. You'd probably break yourself in half," Mike teases.

Eric laughs and adds, "And start a natural disaster while you're at it."

"_Anyway_... I'm going to have a belated Christmas dinner on January 2nd, and you're all welcome to come."

Everyone agrees to be there, and then the conversation shifts to New Year's Eve plans.

I look to the other side of the room to find Emmett staring across the table at Edward's food very covetously, while Edward sits with a defensive posture. At least it hasn't come to blows yet. What kind of gesture would you use to say _I'm sorry you got in a fight because I gave you food as a thank you_? I guess food's probably out of the question.

00000

"So, what are you going to do now that you're free?"

"Um... sleep," Edward replies with a grin.

"Sleep?"

"Yeah, I'm going to chuck my alarm clock into the dark recesses of my closet and sleep for the majority of the day, every day, until I have to go back to school."

"You've clearly put a lot of thought into this plan."

"It's fool proof."

"What if somebody decides they want to wake you up?"

"Nobody's that stupid."

"I see."

"What about you?"

"Last minute packing for my flight tomorrow."

"Sweet."

"Oh yeah, there's nothing more exciting than packing."

We pull into my driveway and he shuts off the engine. We've just finished the last day of school before the break, which means this is the last time Edward's driving me home. I have no idea what to say.

"Is that thing even running?" Edward asks, looking at Steve parked at the top of the driveway.

"It runs. It just doesn't look very good." He doesn't run very _well,_ but you could theoretically drive him somewhere a short distance away at a very slow speed.

Edward gets out of his car and walks up to the side of Steve. I follow suit.

"Are you sure your truck's going to be fit to make the trip all the way to school?"

"It's not that far," I reply defensively.

"For most cars no, but yours is a senior, and not a senior in very good shape either."

"My truck is perfectly capable of getting me anywhere I need to go." Or he will be when he's fixed.

"Your truck is perfectly capable of leaving you stranded in the middle of nowhere after even the slightest hint of stress on the engine."

"Steve would never do that."

"Steve?" He turns to me with a puzzled expression.

"Fuck." Oh God no.

Edward fights back a smile, badly. "Is Steve the truck?"

Oh crap, I think this is beyond a level five. I think I've discovered a level six of blushing. I don't like this at all. I think I'm on fire.

He bites his lip and looks away for a moment, no doubt to properly organize his thoughts for the upcoming merciless teasing. Instead of looking at me, he moves towards the truck, and pats the crushed up hood.

"I'm sorry Steve, it's nothing personal." He shifts his gaze to me, the smile still fighting to get out. "Does he forgive me?"

The nauseous anxiety that had settled in my stomach, melts into a feeling of warmth, and now I'm trying to hide my smile. "He's thinking about it."

"Alright, well... if Steve ever needs a break feel free to call me."

"Thanks." Once again I have to fight back the urge to invite him to the Christmas dinner. I've been wanting to all week, but I can't. It'd be a disaster... assuming he agreed to come at all, which is a long shot.

"Umm..." Edward suddenly goes from playfully amused to nervous and starts rather violently messing around with his hair. "Just a sec."

He goes around to the back of his car and gets something from the trunk before coming back to where I'm standing.

"Here," he says, handing me a narrow rectangular wrapped package.

I completely freeze. "What is this?"

"It's for Christmas." A present? He got me a present?

"Oh... I didn't... I mean... I don't have anything... um."

He seems relieved by my babbling, and waves his hand dismissively. "I broke your arm, you're exempt from gift exchanges with me this year."

"You know this whole _I broke your arm_ thing is getting a little ridiculous."

"I know, right? I mean who breaks a person's arm?"

I glare at his smirk, but it doesn't seem very effective. I give in and move to open it, but he stops me.

"Hold it. It's not Christmas yet."

"You want me to wait?" I don't want to wait. I want to know what he got me _now_.

"Yup. That better be under your tree Christmas morning, or you'll make Rudolph cry."

"What?"

"My grandmother used to tell me that opening your presents before Christmas made Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer cry."

"That's kind of mean."

He shrugs and says, "I used to hunt my presents down. I guess it was the only thing she thought would stop me, and it did."

"Well, you wouldn't want to hurt a reindeer's feelings."

"Especially Rudolph. He's very delicate, you know."

"I remember."

"Right... well, anyway. That goes under the tree."

"Cactus."

"What?"

"I'm spending Christmas with my mom in Phoenix, and we have a giant cactus in our back yard. Every year we cover it with paper flowers, put a sombrero we decorate on top, and use that as our tree."

"So... you've named your truck Steve and you decorate a cactus with a hat and paper, and use it as a Christmas tree?" Well, if he wasn't sure if I was crazy before I'm sure I've cleared it up now.

"Yeah."

"That's kind of adorable," he laughs.

"What?"

"You didn't hear me?"

"I heard you, I just... are you sure you don't mean crazy?"

"I'm pretty sure."

"Maybe you should think about it some more."

"Alright, I'll compromise. How about it's adorably crazy?" he offers with a smirk.

"I guess I can probably live with that," I answer reluctantly.

"Good, so... I'll see you at school after break, merry Christmas, and don't make Rudolph cry."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He smiles widely at me and goes back to his car. As he starts driving away down the street I once again wish I'd asked him to the dinner. Then I wish I could ask him to the dinner without everyone freaking out at me.

I'm really happy that I'll be able to drive Steve again soon, but I think I'm going to miss having a ride to school.

00000

The taxi pulls up in front of the house, and it takes me a moment to get over how surreal this is. It looks the same as it always has. The idea that it's been almost two months since I've been here seems completely ridiculous, but it's true.

Mom comes rushing out of the house and I get out of the car to meet her. She crushes me against her, which is actually really painful, but also kind of nice. I really missed her.

She insists on paying the taxi and carrying my bags, mumbling about how I should've let her pick me up from the airport. It would've been nice to be picked up, but Mom is absolutely unable to arrive anywhere for anything on time ever. She also tends to get flustered in crowds, especially when she's looking for someone. I think a taxi was the way to go.

"I'm so glad you're home baby," Mom says, putting my bags down in the front hall. She pulls me into another hug. This one is less vice-like but it seems to last much longer, and then she moves back to look at my cast. She's about to say something, probably complain once again that I wouldn't let her come up after the accident, when the smoke alarm starts going off in the kitchen.

"Oh shit!" And then she rushes off.

I decide against following her into the kitchen, because I really don't think I'm ready to see what she's doing in there. Instead I go into the living room where Phil's on the couch watching TV.

"Bellllla!" he yells when he sees me in the doorway.

"Hey, Phil. How's it going?"

"Not bad. I'm really glad you're home. Ren insists on cooking all the time. Did you know she cooks with tofu? That shit's not even food. I've missed your cooking."

"I've been led to believe tofu does contain some nutritional value."

"I heard they make plastic out of it."

"Out of soybeans, but not actual tofu... I don't think anyway."

"I bet it makes horrible plastic too... but seriously, I missed ya kid. How's Forks treating you?"

"It's been good."

"Well if you're having any problems, just let me know, especially with boys. You've got to keep an eye on them," he says with a playful grin. I bet Phil was a big trouble maker when he was my age.

"I think my gun toting dad's probably got it covered, thanks."

"Alright, I'm just saying baseball bats are much less traceable than guns."

I laugh and say, "I'll keep that in mind."

Mom comes into the living room a few moments later and says, "I think I killed dinner."

"Looks like we're going out," Phil says excitedly. The poor man. I can't imagine what Mom's been subjecting his stomach to. Actually, I guess I can, I ate her food for years. Thankfully I avoided her recent inclusion of tofu.

We settle on sushi for dinner. On the way, Mom talks about everything that's been happening with her, and by the time we get to the restaurant it's my turn.

"I realize it's a small town, but there must be _some_ cute boys."

"_Mom_." It comes out as a pleading whine, but it still doesn't kill the conversation. Mom is ruthless when it comes to "girl talk."

"There isn't anybody you're interested in?"

"No, not really."

"I bet there are boys interested in you," she says with a knowing smile.

"There are a few," I begrudgingly admit.

"Who?"

"Mike, Eric, and possibly Tyler." It's a little disturbing how her face lights up when I say that. I should've lied. How hard is it to say _No, none of the boys seem interested in me in that way_? I really need to pull my shit together if I don't want to be grilled all week.

"But you don't like these boys?"

"I like them just fine; I just don't want to date them."

"Well, tell me about them."

I look over at Phil, hoping to use his inherent male discomfort at all things "girl talk" related as a way of moving past this topic, but he's watching the TV mounted in the corner, not even paying attention to us. I guess I'm on my own.

00000

I've really missed Mom's kitchen. Actually, I guess it's my kitchen, but it's in Mom's house. It's brighter, more open than Dad's, and it's where I learned to cook, after I decided I wasn't going to ingest anymore of that stuff Mom calls "food".

It's Christmas morning. The sun is out, the stove is on and I'm making pancakes. I missed the sun too.

Mom and Phil come down a little while later, and we eat breakfast in deckchairs around the cactus in the backyard. I realize the cactus thing is a little weird, but I've never understood why you'd want to cut down a tree and put it up in your living room where it sheds all over the place, and eventually dies. I really don't understand why you'd want to buy a fake tree and put that up in your living room. That's almost as bad as plastic fruit.

Phil hands out the gifts, and Mom sings off tune Christmas carols, while I try not to show how awkward getting things makes me feel. Presents and compliments, I'm not good at accepting either.

I open a package of new shirts from Mom; a book I'm not familiar with from Dad; and then Phil holds up a narrow rectangular package. It doesn't have a tag on the top, but I know who it's from.

"That's for me," I say, reaching out to take it.

"Tag must've fallen off," he says with a shrug.

I unwrap a cardboard box, and take off the lid. There's a note on top of tissue paper that says:

_They say ladybugs are good luck. I figure you could use it._

Underneath the tissue paper is a spatula, the kind you use for mixing and scraping the sides of bowls, not the flipper kind. The rubber top is green and there's an image of a ladybug on it.

It's very cute, and simple. It's just so... me. I love it.

Christ, now I want to name a spatula. Lily the Ladybug? I suppose you can't go wrong with alliteration. I mean, if it's good enough for superheroes it must be good enough for a cute cooking utensil. When exactly did cooking utensils become cute?

I put it aside with the other things I've opened to take the next thing Phil passes me, but I spend a large portion of the rest of the day trying to figure out what to give Edward, because I have to give him something now.

It takes me most of the day but I do figure it out.

I make chocolate cookies with red icing and chocolate chips for spots, which add up to ladybug cookies. It's cheesy and silly and a little bit weird, but whatever. Weird seems to work for us.

Baking and decorating cookies are not the easiest things I've done with only my left hand, but they get finished. I'm gonna be honest though, they kind of look like retarded ladybugs or maybe deformed toadstools with brown spots instead of white, but I'm sending them anyway. I'm sure they taste fine.

Once they're in the box to be shipped, I get his address off the internet and write it on using my left hand, which is a painfully slow process if I want it to be legible. As it is, it looks like a child just learning to write did it. After putting one of Mom's return address stickers on it, I take it down to the post office and send it off.

He didn't react badly to the lunch thing, so there's no reason to believe this will freak him out. It's not that weird, I mean lots of people send cookies this time of year. I still feel like it's kind of weird though.

I'm really going to have to look into finding a suitable substitute word for weird.

00000

I'm vacuuming the living room in preparation for the dinner, with Chuck turned way up so I can hear the music over the noisy droning sound, when something touches my back. I shriek, dropping the handle of the vacuum so that it clunks against the floor. I turn quickly to find Edward behind me laughing. My breath shudders and stops. Where the fuck did he come from?

He reaches over, fingers briefly brushing against my cheek, before he pulls one of my ear buds out by the cord.

"Your door was open," he says loudly.

I reach down and shut off the vacuum. "What?"

"Your door, the rectangular hole with a lockable cover that you use to enter and exit this dwelling, was open. I let myself in." Huh? Wait...

"How can you let yourself in if it's open?"

"When I said _open_ I meant _unlocked_."

"And when you knocked you could tell it was unlocked?"

"It's possible I didn't do that."

"I see."

"I tried the knob first."

"Seems a little backwards," I mutter.

"Well, I'm a maverick like that," he replies with a playful smirk.

"Is maverick a synonym for idiot? Because my dad's not going to be happy if he finds out you were here."

"So, don't tell him," he replies with a shrug.

"What are you doing here, Edward?"

"I wanted to ask you something."

"What?"

"Do you respond to everything with food, or do you just think I'm _really_ hungry?"

"You came over here to ask me that?"

"Yup."

"I like to cook. I don't like to shop. It's pretty simple really."

"So, that's a yes?"

"Why are you even asking me this?"

"Hey, I came all the way down here for this answer."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and reply, "No, I don't respond to everything with food." I pause for a moment before dryly asking, "Was it everything you dreamed it would be?"

"My dreams are much more interesting than that, I assure you."

"Well, I'm happy for you, truly. Was there anything else you wanted to say while you're here, or are you planning to come back later to ask me some other random question?"

"Thank you for the cookies. I had to hide them, but they were very good."

"Thanks for the spatula."

He smiles and says, "You're welcome. Why didn't you wait until after you get your cast off to vacuum?"

"Oh... I'm having a belated Christmas dinner thing tomorrow."

Edward nods and starts looking around the room. That feeling of guilt for not inviting him wells up again.

"I couldn't invite you," I blurt out.

He looks at me with surprise. "Okay. I really wasn't expecting you to."

"I mean I wanted to, but my dad's really not all that fond of you, and it's mostly for him." This seems to make him happy, despite the fact that I just told him my dad doesn't like him.

"Because you went away for Christmas."

"Yeah."

"I guess you're probably busy then. You've got a ride for Saturday, right?" Did Carlisle tell him I have an appointment again? Are doctors allowed to do that?"

"Yeah, my dad's driving me. Hopefully I'll get to drive back."

"Alright, I'll see you Monday. Make sure you bring stuff to make notes. You're on your own now," he says as he backs out into the hall.

"Let's be honest. If I need help, you'll give it. I mean, you _did_ break my arm," I call after him. I can hear him laughing until he shuts the front door behind him.

00000

"So, this is the full AF team, huh?" Jake says. He's sitting next to me at the table watching Eric try to steal food off Jess's plate as she's talking to Angie, while Mike and Tyler have a heated conversation about something.

"In all their glory."

"I'm definitely getting the aggressive thing."

"It is a defining characteristic." Although certain members of the Cullen family seem to be fairly aggressive about getting their way, as well, so I guess it's not particularly unique to the AF.

"Hey, Bella," Mike calls.

"Yeah."

"Did you ever get your room painted?"

"What?"

"You were talking about it before you broke your arm. Did you ever get it done?"

"Right. No, we never really got around to it."

"Well, I could help you out if you still want to do it." Ah, clearly Mike is stepping up his efforts to get back into my good graces. Great, now he's going to start offering to do things for me.

"I could probably lend a hand too, if you're looking for volunteers," Jake offers. What's he sucking up for?

"I painted my room last year, I'm great with edges," Tyler says.

"You can count me in too," Eric says.

"So, when are we doing this?" Mike asks.

"Well, if you boy are available over the weekend, we could knock this out before Monday," Dad says with a very pleased look on his face. I look over at him in shock as the guys agree to come over tomorrow morning to get started on my room, and Billy starts laughing his ass off.

What the fuck just happened?

00000

"Do you want to keep this?" Carlisle asks, holding up my empty cast.

"Why would I want that?"

"Some people want them."

"Yeah, I could start a collection."

"You could get the record for most broken person in the history of ever."

"You've got an awful smart mouth for a doctor," I tease.

"My mentor encouraged humour as a way of improving bedside manner."

"I don't think he meant for you to mock your patients. You should try making fun of yourself instead. That'd be much more entertaining."

"I suppose I could try, but there's just so little about me to mock."

"I'm sure you could come up with something if you really tried."

"So, is that a _no_ on the keepsake cast?"

"It's a no. I don't particularly want to remember my arm bone snapping and breaking the skin."

"But on the bright side you have this cool new scar." He taps his finger against the thick line on my forearm.

"Yeah, it's a real beauty."

"You know if you keep arching your eyebrow like that one day it's going to get stuck."

"Are you a real doctor?"

"Technically I studied psychology, but everything is perspective anyway, so I figure I'm probably qualified," he answers with a smirk.

"Let's run that one by the hospital board, see if they agree."

"Well, I'm on the hospital board, so good luck with that."

"Are you?"

"No... I do have a life you know."

"It seems to me that someone who has a life wouldn't be likely to adopt five teenagers."

"You're failing to see the beauty of it. We have children, but when we get them they're already old enough to mostly take care of themselves, and it's pretty much guaranteed that the last of them'll be well out of the house by the time I'm forty."

"That is kind of genius."

"Exactly," he says with a smug smile. "So..."he starts hesitantly, "I suppose you'll be driving yourself to school from now on."

"That's the plan, yeah."

Carlisle nods. I think he wants to say something else, but he doesn't seem to be able to find the words. We stay there in silence for a couple moments before there's a knock on the door and Dad sticks his head in.

"Almost done in here? I don't want to leave those boys alone at the house for too long."

"Yeah, we're all finished," Carlisle says, helping me down from the exam table.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Bella. Try to avoid further injury for a little while at least, huh?"

"I don't know, that might hurt my chances at that record."

"I'm sure you'll get there eventually, no need to rush it."

"Well, I'll think about."

"Please do," he says, waving as we leave the room.

"What was that about?" Dad asks.

"Oh, well he asked me... it's a long story. We were just joking around."

"Alright." He nods to the people behind the front counter, before we head out the door. "So, I'm guess you want to drive."

"Absolutely. Hand over the keys."

I climb behind the wheel of a newly working, but still crumpled looking, Steve and drive us back to a house full of paint splattered teenage boys. My right arm feels strange, weak from disuse, but I'm almost giddy over the fact that I can use it again.

I have a feeling this is going to be an odd year.

**A/N:** The Addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads, and a link to a picture of the green ladybug spatula are on my profile page.

Bright Like the Sun has been nominated over at The Indie Twific Awards for "Best Alternate Universe Human WIP" and "Best Use of Comedy WIP."

My other story Ethan Church has been nominated for "Best Original Character WIP" and "Most Original Story Line WIP."

The initial round of voting is from July 9 – 13 at http://theindietwificawards dot com.


	15. Vegan Cardboard and Paint Flecks

**A/N:** Beta'd by Denise and Feisty Y. Beden (FFn and Ravelry) who came through at the last minute so I could get this out today.

**Vegan Cardboard and Paint Flecks**

The awesomeness that is Steve is even greater than I remembered, especially when Dad isn't sitting in the passenger seat giving me instructions every ten seconds. It's only been two months. I haven't forgotten how to drive, thank you. It was like riding a bike. Actually, it was much easier than riding a bike because my balance is shit.

I kept myself from saying anything snarky on the drive back from the hospital because he was only trying to be helpful, even if it was unnecessary and incredibly annoying. I was also far from forgiving him for throwing me to the wolves, aka the teenage boys invading my personal space, for the span of a never ending weekend. I was pretty sure if I did say something it would've been pretty nasty, and then I'd feel bad.

But that was Saturday. Today is Monday. Today I got to drive all by myself. I nearly hit someone's dog, but I'm taking that to the grave with me, so it's irrelevant. I drove, and everything was fine.

Despite the fact that it's the Monday after the break I'm in an exceptionally good mood. I'm fixed, Steve's fixed, and my backpack is once again usable. I fucking love my backpack, but I draw the line at naming it. Everybody has to have their limits.

I'm walking down the hall towards my locker when something heavy slams down on my shoulder. I simultaneously jump and stumble. There may have been a little bit of a shriek too. A hand wraps around my arm, preventing me from falling on my face in the middle of the hallway.

There's a deep chuckle behind me, and I turn my head to find Emmett standing there with his giant hand on my shoulder. He tugs on my shoulder, turning me around to face him before removing his hand.

"Hey," he says.

" Um... hi?"

"I'm Emmett."

"Yeah."

"You're Bella." The smile on his face is slowly growing bigger and bigger the longer I stand here staring at him.

"I am."

"Are you always this talkative?"

"I tend to communicate better if you don't scare the shit out of me first."

He laughs and says, "Fair enough. I didn't actually mean to scare you... it was kinda funny though."

"Yeah, kinda not, but... did you want something?"

"I have a question for you."

"Does Carlisle teach you guys to sneak up on people when you want to ask them a question? Because that's a really weird way to go about things."

"What?" he asks, his amusement slipping into an expression of confusion.

"Never mind, what's your question?" I suddenly feel worried. Is this going to be a question I want to answer?

He smiles mischievously at me and asks, "If I punched someone, would you give me food?"

"Ummm... did you have anyone in mind?"

"I don't know. Edward's kind of pissing me off lately."

"That wouldn't be because of the cookies ,would it?"

"What cookies?" Oh shit. "He had _cookies_?"

"I don't... what?"

"Motherfucker!" he yells suddenly, startling a teacher walking behind him. Emmett follows my gaze to the woman glaring daggers at his back.

"Oh, hey. Sorry about that," he says with a wave and then turns back to me with a frown. "My Spanish teacher. What do you wanna bet I'm going to be chosen to do most of the readings this afternoon? Serious passive-aggressive tendencies. I think she might have a thing for me."

"Are you serious?"

"Rarely ever. Although I was absolutely convinced that my tenth grade English teacher had a crush on me, because she was always coming over to talk to me when we were working, walking me through _everything_. But looking back now I'm pretty sure she just thought I was stupid."

"Oh."

"I'm not much of a book person. Anyway... what kind of cookies are we talking about here?"

I don't think chocolate with icing and chocolate chips is the best way to answer. "Oatmeal... with raisins. It's a vegan recipe."

"Ew."

"Yeah."

"Well, alright then." And then he walks away.

What the fuck is with this family?

00000

"So, how'd the painting go?" Jess asks with a barely contained smile. I glare at her.

"It's done," I grit out, stabbing viciously at my lunch.

"We finished yesterday. I think it looks pretty damn good," Mike says proudly.

"Very clean edges," Tyler adds. Again with the fucking edges.

"It does look very nice, thank you." It does. They did surprisingly well for a bunch of teenage boys that spent most of their time trying to talk to me.

"Of course it does. We should totally do it for money," Eric says.

"Yeah, you might get as much as a room a year around here," Jess says.

"I'm sure if you advertised in Port Angeles as well you could make some money from it," Angie says with an encouraging smile.

"Actually, I noticed that the paint in your kitchen was peeling a bit on the cupboards, and I was thinking I could help you with that... you wouldn't have to pay me," Mike offers hopefully.

"Yeah, I don't think that's... necessary, but thanks."

The fact that Jess seems to be enjoying the hell out of this should probably annoy me, but I guess I can see how this would be entertaining... as long as you're not me.

Out of the corner of my eye I notice Mike moving beside me, and the next thing I know he's touching my neck.

"Whoa, what's going on?" I ask, ducking away from his hand.

"Hold still." His hand reaches out, but I swat it away. "Bella," he says in frustration and touches my neck again.

"I have a fork, Mike. I will fucking stab you in the hand," I hiss. Evidently I'm feeling a little hostile after this weekend.

Everybody looks at me in shock, except Jess, who starts laughing her ass off.

Once Mike recovers a little, he sighs and says, "Alright, but I was just trying to help."

"Sure you are," I mutter under my breath.

There's a long moment of silence and then Eric starts telling a story about Mike falling off the ladder when he was painting my ceiling. Then Mike tells a story about Eric spilling paint all over his clothes and they spend the next ten minutes trying to one-up each other with embarrassing stories.

By the time Eric's midway through a story about Tyler falling off a log into a creek in March I'm starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by all the attention. I mean I realize they're just telling stories, but they're all _looking_ at me; they've been looking at me all weekend. There're only a few minutes left of lunch, but I just don't think I can take any more of this.

I stand up suddenly, chair scraping across the floor. "I'll see you guys later."

"Where are you going?"

"Umm." I look up and see Edward walking towards the cafeteria door. "I have to talk to Edward... about biology."

I start walking towards the door quickly in the hopes of avoiding any questions.

From behind me Mike yells, "But I'm in your biology class!" Shit! Keep moving.

I trip once on my way across the room, but I don't fall or hit anything, so it goes pretty well. When I get through the doors I spot him down the hallway, and call out, "Edward!"

He looks surprised when he turns, and then it morphs into a smile when he sees me.

"Hey," I say as I stop in front of him.

"Hey, what's up?"

"I'm... hiding."

"Hiding?"

"More like running away, really."

"What exactly are you..." he trails off as he looks over my shoulder, and then he smiles. "Ah."

I turn and see Mike standing by the doors. He looks down and starts fiddling with his watch when he notices me looking.

"He's not very good at sneaking around," Edward says in a conspiratorial tone.

"Well, he clearly doesn't have the practice you do." When I turn back to face him he's smiling.

"It's all natural I assure you. Not everyone can be as talented as me."

"I would hope not. Stalker skills aren't the type of thing you want everyone to have."

Edward smirks and says, "They've multiplied."

"What?" I look back again. Tyler and Eric have now joined Mike, and they seem to be arguing about something.

"They're probably trying to decide whether or not they should come over here... but they won't," he says.

"No?"

"They're afraid of me."

"I'm kind of counting on that."

"Well, I'm glad you find my social leper status so useful."

"Hey, look at it this way: I'm not trying to avoid _you_."

He chuckles quietly and asks, "Why exactly are you trying to avoid them?"

"Because threatening Mike with a fork didn't get them to back off. Running away is plan B."

"You threatened him with a _fork_?"

"Plastic knives aren't pointy, and I didn't have one on me at the time anyway."

He stares at me for a moment before asking, "Why did you feel the need to threaten him?"

"There was inappropriate touching."

As soon as his expression hardens and his eyes dart to the guys huddled down the hall I realize that was a _really_ bad way to phrase it.

"Not _that_ inappropriate... he only touched my neck. Jesus, what did you think - he tried to fondle me in the cafeteria?"

"Well, I don't know; you did threaten to stab the guy." He gets kind of pouty when he says it, which I find funnier than I probably should.

"It wasn't just the neck thing. All four of them practically moved into my house for the weekend. I couldn't get away from them, but they were painting my room for free, so I couldn't really tell them to leave me alone. Do you have any idea how much four teenage boys can eat in a day?"

"I live in a house with three, but I'm sure Emmett could eat them all under the table on his own. Wait, who's the fourth?"

"My friend Jacob from La Push. I'm pretty sure his mission in life is to mess with me. He spent the whole time egging them on."

The first bell goes, and we start walking towards the bio room.

"Oh, Emmett!" I say a little too loudly for my liking.

"What about him?"

"I talked to him this morning... well, he talked to me... I mean we... I told him about the cookies... accidentally."

"What? Why would you do that?"

"I thought he knew."

"I told you I hid them."

"But I didn't know that meant their existence was a secret. He probably won't bring it up anyway. I told him they were oatmeal raisin vegan cookies. He seemed to lose interest after that, but feel free to tell him they tasted like cardboard if he bugs you about it."

"How did that even come up?"

"I thought they were why he wants to punch you. Apparently I was wrong."

"He wants to punch me?"

"He said you were pissing him off," I reply with a shrug.

Edward looks really confused for a moment, and then he shakes his head and mutters, "Fucking Emmett."

We take our seats at the back of the room and sit in silence for a few moments.

I'm pretty sure he's staring at the scar on my arm, but I don't turn to confirm it. I can't seem to keep my arm still with his attention focused on it. Out of the corner of my eye I see Edward's head move so that he's staring at my face, or possibly my neck. What's so special about my neck all of a sudden?

"You've got paint in your hair," Edward says quietly.

"What?" I pull my hair in front of my face to try to see it.

"No it's um..." He clears his throat and then reaches over, pushing my hair behind my shoulder. His fingertips brush against my neck on their way to the base of my skull. "It's near the roots at the back."

"Oh." I feel kind of bad about snapping at Mike now. Granted, he could've given me a little warning, but still.

"How the hell did you get paint there?"

"I told you they were..." I flinch when he yanks some hair out with the paint and reach back to rub the spot, "painting my room. I probably got some on my hand or something. Thanks."

"Sure. _You_ weren't painting, were you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He looks forward and shrugs. "Paintbrushes with hard, pointy ends, slick paint spills, heavy paint cans all over the place, plastic coverings that tend to bunch, ladders. There are far too many ways for you to hurt yourself."

"See, that's not fair."

"What?"

"You're the one with the weird genetics, and I'm the one who gets mocked for the way I am."

"Do I need to remind you that you called me a vampire, and maybe clumsy _is_ a genetic thing."

"That doesn't count. I was on drugs the first time, and you're the one that made it a joke. If anyone's to blame for that it's you, and possibly Carlisle the heavy-handed medicator, and how would clumsiness be genetic?"

"Maybe one side of your brain is heavier than the other, making you unbalanced."

"It is not!"

"Are you sure? Because your head does tend to lilt to the left..." He shakes his head, and puts a consoling hand on my shoulder. "You never had a chance."

"My head does not lilt!" I hiss, pushing his arm away from me.

"I'm pretty sure it does."

I sit silently for a moment, staring forward, open mouthed, before I pick up my notebook and whack him on the chest with it.

"Did you just hit me with your notebook?" he asks incredulously, hand rubbing against his chest.

"Yes, I did."

"You know that metal spiral thing kinda hurts."

"Then I guess you should watch what you say," I reply with an overly sweet smile.

He laughs quietly as he turns back to face the front.

00000

Mr. Banner is midway through the lesson when the overhead projector flickers and dies. When he goes off in search of another one, Edward leans over to study my notes.

"Can you even read that?"

"Yes."

"You cannot."

"I can." I probably can if I study it long enough.

"Your writing is worse than it was before. I didn't even think that was possible."

"You're incredibly annoying, you know that?"

"It's been mentioned." He pulls my notebook closer to him and says, "You spelled _lysosomes_ wrong." He turns the notebook sideways and writes it out properly in the margin.

"Oh, that's great. There's nothing wrong with my writing. I can read it, it's perfectly fine, and now yours is there mocking it."

"I don't believe you can read it."

"Well, I can," I reply indignantly. He raises a disbelieving eyebrow at me, and I finish, "...most of the time." He smiles. Smug bastard. "I hope you're happy; you've made my writing feel very bad about itself." I pull my notebook across the table towards me.

"Maybe that's the push it needs to make itself legible. Chicken-scratch is no way to live."

I can really hear the _thwap_ sound when I hit him with my notebook this time. He opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up my hand to silence him.

"You brought that on yourself."

He gets that evil smile on his face again before he snatches my notebook off the table.

"I need that." I try to grab for it, but he moves it away.

"You should have thought of that before you used it as a weapon." He looks down at the notebook and flips through a few pages. "You know your writing is actually getting worse as you go."

I sigh and give up trying to get it back from him. "My hand is getting tired. It's usually not quite that bad."

"Well I guess you don't need this then," he says, putting my notebook down between his backpack and the wall.

"Yes, I do."

"Nope."

"I have to take notes."

"If you keep writing even you're not going to be able to read it, and then you'll have to borrow mine. So I might as well take the rest of the notes for the both of us."

"Give me my notebook."

"At the end of class." God damn it. I smack his arm with my hand. He grabs my wrist and holds it to the table, so I whack him with the other hand, and then he gets that one too. That didn't work out well at all.

"Are you happy now? You've been incapacitated."

"I'm hardly incapacitated."

"Really?"

"I could head-butt you. I have a very hard head."

"It also lilts... BUT then I'd have to put you in a headlock. I've been put in headlocks; you don't want that." I really don't want that.

Since I can't hit him anymore, I look forward and... okay, I'm pouting a little bit. "You're very pushy."

"At least I'm non-violent." I turn to give him a disbelieving look. "...towards girls anyway."

"I didn't realize I was hitting a girl."

"Ha ha," he says dryly. "Didn't the chief ever teach you violence doesn't solve anything?"

"I'm not trying to solve anything. I'm just trying to vent."

"Vent what?"

"It's very frustrating to be treated like a doll."

"Maybe you could try acting like less of a disaster on legs, although I suppose it isn't your fault. I mean you didn't make your head unbalanced."

All I can do is glare. If my hands were free I swear to God I'd...

"Headlock," he smirks. Shit, that was creepy.

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do. My head hates you too."

"Your head doesn't hate me. It knows I was just kidding. It's a very smart head."

"It's better than your head," I mutter. Yeah, that was really clever.

"I'm sure it is," he says indulgently.

Mr. Banner finally comes back, dragging an overhead projector behind him on a cart with a shaky wheel.

"If I release your hands are you going to be good?" he asks in a condescending voice.

I roll my eyes and answer, "Yes."

"Good." I refuse to look at him, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. He lets go of my wrists and starts taking notes again.

After a few moments Edward leans towards me and quietly asks, "Are you going on that English trip next week?"

"Yeah."

He nods, and then pauses when he notices me absently rubbing at my wrists.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

My skin feels cold where the heat of his hand used to be.

**A/N:**

The Indie TwiFic Awards:

Bright Like the Sun has made it to the final round of voting for "Best Alternate Universe Human WIP" and "Best Use of Comedy WIP."

Ethan Church has made it to the final round of voting for "Best Original Character WIP."

Voting is from July 22 - 29 at theindietwificawards(dot)com.

Both Bright Like the Sun and Ethan Church were included on The Fictionators list of recommendations this Friday.

You can find that here: fictionators(dot)com/2009/07/fuckton-fictionator-friday-72409(dot)html


	16. Incidents and Allegations

**A/N:**Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net), and Denise.

**Incidents and Allegations**

As much as I love the idea of missing a whole day of school to go to a play, the fact that I had to get up at six-thirty in the morning severely dampens my excitement about this field trip. The upcoming three and a half hour drive into Seattle on a school bus probably won't help my mood.

Given that the alternative was to go to school all day and then write an essay on the modern relevance of Shakespeare, I'm guessing there are a record number of teenagers awake before seven am in Forks this morning.

I pull my bag onto the gray vinyl bench beside me to dig out my book and the bag of cereal I threw in there this morning as I sprinted out the door. I shove my bag back down onto the floor between my legs as another group of people drag their feet down the middle aisle of the bus. I'm not seeing a lot of happy faces right now. Mostly it's a combination of tired and grumpy with a few people that actually look pissed off.

I lean my head against the cold glass window and open my book. It's only a few minutes later when someone slides into the seat next to me. Shit. I had really been hoping for Jess or Angie to get here before any of the guys showed up, but I'm pretty sure it's a guy. Would it be rude to kick one of my friends out of a seat? When I'm talking about three and a half hours each way do I really care?

I look up slowly to see... oh, not who I was expecting.

"Hey Ed." He looks at me quizzically, and I grimace. "I was just trying it out... doesn't really work for me."

"Any particular reason you wanted to try?"

"I like shortening names."

"Why?"

"Syllables are the enemy," I respond with a shrug.

"Okay, but what's the real reason?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'm just trying to be more... friendly in regards to certain people. Friends are friendly, right?"

"And you're only trying this out with me now?" he asks with mock hurt.

"Well I only just started calling you by your name." Why the hell did I say that? Shit. Shit. _Shit._

"What else would you call me?"

"What?" Yeah, making him ask his question again is a foolproof way of ending the conversation. Brilliant. Maybe I could just pretend I've gone deaf all of a sudden. That happens right? But then I'd probably have to go to the hospital, and Carlisle would totally rat me out when he inevitably figures out I'm lying. Doctor-patient confidentiality my ass.

"What were you calling me before you started calling me Edward?"

"What? Nothing. I wasn't... I didn't call you anything." I really need to learn how to lie. This is just sad.

"I just didn't have a name?" He's smirking. That's not a good sign.

I shrug.

"You're not telling me something."

"I'm not telling you a lot of things, the majority of which is none of your business."

"You don't think what you called me is my business?"

"No."

"I disagree."

"I fail to see how that's relevant."

"It must've been pretty bad if you won't tell me... I'm getting kind of paranoid here. I could be coming up with all kinds of horrible names that are way worse then what you called me." Oh, nice. Does that count as emotional blackmail? It's definitely some form of manipulation.

"Then you should try being more optimistic."

"You're really not going to tell me?"

"I'm _really_ not going to tell you."

"Ever?"

"Maybe someday... in the far distant future... assuming at that point you've lost the majority of your short term memory and/or all your hearing."

"See now I know it must be horrible."

"No, it's just... embarrassing."

"To me or to you?"

"Me." He'd probably find it hilarious or really insulting, but more likely hilarious.

"I won't laugh."

"You would. You would laugh your ass off."

"I promise I won't."

"You're in no position to make that promise. You have no idea what it is."

"Someday you're going to tell me," he says with a confident nod.

"Well, aren't we sure of ourselves."

"I'm sure I'm annoying enough to eventually get you to cave." I bet he is, too.

"We'll see."

"Yes, we will."

Mike walks up the aisle towards us, nodding to me before glaring at Edward.

After Mike passes, Edward leans closer and says, "You know, I'm starting to think he doesn't like me."

"What? That's just ridiculous."

"You think I'm being paranoid?"

"Most definitely," I reply. Reaching into the baggie stashed in my pocket, I pull out a handful of cereal and shove it in my mouth.

"What is that?" he asks, staring curiously at my coat pocket.

"Breakfast," I mumble around a mouthful of cereal. Yeah I'm all kinds of classy.

After I swallow, and briefly consider how stupid it is to bring dry cereal with nothing to drink, I explain, "I didn't have time for breakfast. I need a new alarm clock. The one I have keeps stopping when I shut it off."

"Ah, mine used to do that too. Well it still does, but I moved it to the other side of the room. You should try that."

"But then I'd have to get up." I'm not trying to be funny, I just didn't think before I spoke. Although given the rest of this conversation maybe I can pretend I was joking.

He chuckles and says, "Yeah, that's kinda the point."

I make a grumbling noise in response, and hold out a handful of cereal to him. It's Lucky Charms this time.

"If I take a marshmallow are you going to hurt me?"

"Not with this many witnesses around," I reply dryly. I'm quite proud of how straight I'm managing to keep my face, but then he smiles, and I can't not smile back. "I don't really care."

"How can you not care? The marshmallows are the best part." He says taking a rainbow and some of the actual cereal. I roll my eyes, grab his hand to turn it palm up, and dump the contents of my hand into his. He smiles at me again.

"They're not _really_ marshmallows. They're not even soft."

"They may not be soft, but they're still marshmallows."

"Stale marshmallows," I mutter petulantly.

He shakes his head at me, and says, "These are really dry."

"Yup."

"Do you have water or anything?"

"Nope."

"I feel like I've been set up."

"Part one of my evil plan to make you mildly uncomfortable is complete. You played right into my hand."

"So, what's part two?"

"I make you miss lunch, so you're hungry until you get home."

"That's genius," he laughs.

"I know. So many things I do are."

00000

"To live, or to off myself, that's what I'm thinking about," the man I've come to think of as The Douchebag in Black wails with his arms stretched up in the air.

"Jesus Christ," Edward groans next to me, as "Hamlet" continues to strut around in a way that's probably intended to be angsty. Really he just looks like some kind of hopped up reject from the Jets. He's tough in a sings-while-doing-choreographed-dances kind of way, meaning not at all and doing a horrible job at pretending. This is painful, so fucking painful.

Is it legal to kill your teachers if they subject you to three hours of "Something is Rotten in the City of Seattle: A Modern Retelling of Shakespeare's _Hamlet_" with no intermission? Something's fucking rotten alright and they dragged our asses all the way to Seattle to see it.

"Please kill me," I mutter. This shit was funny at first. Horatio went to smoke weed on the roof of his apartment with some friends when a guy covered in toilet paper started following them around, making weird moaning noises. Horatio goes to tell Hamlet and accidentally walks in on Gertrude going at it with her former brother-in-law, which was uncomfortably overacted. Then Claudius held a meeting for the building and a drunken Hamlet called him "a dirty old sisterfucker," and it all went downhill from there.

I'm seriously going to kill somebody.

00000

I wake up to a high-pitched wailing noise that sounds an awful lot like a dying dog. Down on the stage it looks like The Douchebag in Black is having a particularly violent epileptic seizure in the middle of a graveyard.

It's at this point that I realize I've been sleeping on someone's shoulder, specifically Edward's.

"Sorry," I mutter groggily, raising my head.

"Don't worry about it." He chuckles and brushes my hair back behind my ear.

"What the hell's going on?" I whisper in a sleep mangled voice.

"He's mourning."

"It looks like he's dying."

"They haven't gotten to that part yet, unfortunately."

"Dude, you totally just ruined the ending for me."

"I'm terribly sorry."

"Well, I don't think I can forgive you. That's three hours down the drain now."

"Yeah, because otherwise this would've been such a meaningful experience."

"Hey, I'm learning things. For instance, Shakespeare can be really, really bad, which is not something I knew firsthand before today."

"This is not Shakespeare. If the person who wrote this crap has ever read _Hamlet,_ _I'm_ fucking Shakespeare."

"You must be pretty sure of yourself if you're willing to risk necrophilia... again."

Edward's eyes go wide, his mouth falls open, and he silently stares at me for a good minute before he bursts out laughing. And then I start laughing. I'm not sure if it's the latest dead sex joke, this craptastic play, or his reaction that sets me off, but I'm getting more than a little hysterical.

I put my hands over my mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the sound, while Edward grips the back of the chair in front of him as he doubles over in his seat.

Someone taps me on the shoulder and I turn to find one of the teachers motioning for us to leave. Aside from our laughter there aren't any other sounds – not a single one. I look back to the stage and see The Douchebag in Black standing over an open grave staring at us slack-jawed. Apparently he's lost his place. Totally Edward's fault... somehow. Shit this is bad.

I push against Edward's shoulder and choke out, "Go."

We stumble up the aisle and out the door before collapsing onto a bench in the hall. The teacher follows us out, and she takes a seat on a bench across from us.

"Who wants to tell me what's so funny?" she asks in a disapproving voice.

"She made a necrophilia joke," Edward says between heavy breaths. Fucking traitor.

"He started it." I'm huffing like I've been running, and my stomach hurts. My eyes may be a bit wetter than usual too.

"I did not."

"If the first time was my fault, this time is definitely on you."

"The first time didn't get us in trouble."

"Well, that just means I have better timing, doesn't it?" I snap.

The teacher... Ms. Dandridge? Something like that... is eyeing us both with an amused expression. Amused is good. Amused is less likely to get us detention for a week.

We're all silent for a couple moments, before Edward asks, "Are we going back in?"

"Do you really want to?" she asks.

He looks thoughtful for a moment and then replies, "I'm good here."

"Me, too." Even if it does mean being stuck out here with someone I'm currently angry with. I lean my head back against the wall, tilting my face up to study the stained plaster ceiling. I should pinch him, really hard.

I'm trying to decide where the ideal place to pinch him would be when the pads of his fingers brush against the back of my hand.

"She scares me," he whispers apologetically.

"She doesn't seem all that scary."

"Clearly you've never seen her angry then, because it's terrifying."

"What does this have to do with anything?"

"I can't lie when I'm scared. That's why Alice always puts on a horizontally striped Cardigan when she needs to get the truth out of me."

I stare at him in stunned silence for a moment before asking, "Are you saying you're afraid of _cardigans_?"

"Only the horizontally striped ones, and it's more like they make me uneasy," he corrects defensively.

"Where the fuck did that come from?"

He sighs and reluctantly explains, "When I was eight we had a next door neighbour who always used to wear them. He had a laugh like a hyena."

"That's it? The guy's got a weird laugh and suddenly you have a phobia of cardigans?"

"I used to read a lot and I was really into werewolves and stuff. For about a year, I was convinced he turned into a hyena at night."

"Are you serious?"

"I thought he was going to eat me."

"Does that mean you're afraid of Mr. Rogers?" Don't laugh. He was very good about Steve. Do _not_ laugh at him.

"You dress up cactuses, you're in no position to judge."

"Only the one, but if it were plural it'd be _cacti_."

"The point still stands."

"Assuming your point is that we're both completely crazy then yeah, I'd say it's got some merit."

He starts chuckling quietly.

"I wonder if there's an official term for cardigan phobia," I laugh. He laughed first, it's totally allowed now.

He starts laughing harder, and offers, "Cardiphobia?"

"That makes it sound like you're afraid of playing cards."

"Or greeting cards. A lot of those are pretty hard to stomach."

"But they're not nearly as bad as cardigans," I choke out, before burying my head in his shoulder to muffle my laughter.

"Oh, fuck off," he grumbles good-naturedly.

"I'm still here you know."

"Sorry, Ms. Danby."

00000

"_Sweetie, if you were going to make tuna taco chicken casserole would you mix the two fillings together or would you layer them?"_

"Why would you ever make that?"

"_It'll be good. They're Phil's two favourite foods."_

"That doesn't mean he'll like them thrown together, Mom."

"_Fine, I'll figure it out myself."_ I'm sorry Phil, I tried. Actually as long as it doesn't have tofu in it he'll probably eat it happily.

"You could just throw it all in a blender and then put the topping on."

"_Eww."_

"Yeah, cause it's the blender that makes it nasty."

"_You're so negative, Bella. It's going to work out fine."_

"As long as I don't have to eat it, you can make whatever you want."

"_Mm hm. How was your field trip? That was today wasn't it?"_

"Yeah, it was... interesting. Really not worth the bus ride, but interesting."

"_So, on the bus...?"_ she starts off carefully and trails off at the end, but I know exactly what she was going to say.

"What about it?" I prompt.

"_Did you sit with anyone?"_

"As a matter of fact, I did."

"_Really?"_ She sounds very happy. It's always bothered my outgoing mother that I spend so much time alone. She thrives on company in a way I've never fully understood.

"Yes, really."

"_With a friend?"_

"Ah... yeah, I guess." I did imply he was my friend on the bus and he didn't seem to have a problem with it. That makes me smile more than it probably should.

"_You sound surprised."_

"I hadn't thought about it before."

"_Oh. So, who is this friend?"_

"Edward Cullen."

"_Edward is a boy's name,"_ she says in a playfully childish voice.

"Yes, and he's a boy, so it suits him very well."

"_And is Edward cute?"_

"He's a friend," I reiterate forcefully.

Mom scoffs loudly, and asks, _"Friends can't be cute?"_

"I suppose," I agree reluctantly.

"_He is cute, isn't he?"_

"Wha... I didn't say that."

"_But I can tell, you think he's cute." _Of course I do. He _is_ cute. It's like a fact or something.

"He's attractive, I guess."

"_Can you get me a picture?"_

"What?! Why?"

"_I may not be able to meet your friends, but I should at least be able to see them, especially the cute ones."_

"I don't have any pictures of him."

"_So take some."_

"I'm not sending you pictures, Mom."

"_Why not?"_

"Cause it's weird."

"_Just tell him it's for your mother,"_ she says like it's an obvious and sane solution.

"I think that would probably make it worse."

"_Oh, come on."_

"No."

"_Fine... you could just take a little one with your phone..."_

"Mom!"

"_... and he wouldn't even have to know!"_ she finishes, raising her voice to drown out my interruption.

"NO!"

"_Alright, but I expect details."_

"Of what?" I ask cautiously.

"_How you met, what you talk about, why up until now Edward has gone unmentioned. Are you hiding him for a reason, Isabella?"_

"I didn't... I've mentioned him."

"_When?"_

"He's the one that pushed me out of the way of the car."

"_Edward the _life-saving_ cute friend? Isabella Marie Swan you get me a picture of that boy!"_

"I'm hanging up now!" I threaten.

"_Alright, alright, calm down. So... how was the play?"_

"I fell asleep." I figure it's probably best to leave out the _on Edward_ part of that sentence.

She chuckles, and sighs, _"My daughter's so cultured."_

"I don't know what it was, but it most definitely wasn't culture."

00000

Dad's snoring like a chainsaw in the recliner in front of the TV when the phone starts ringing.

I jump up, hoping it's too late for my school to be calling about that little incident this afternoon. It's nearly eight. It can't be school, right?

"Hello?"

There's a pause, before a woman says, _"Hello. Is this Isabella?"_

"Yes. May I ask who's speaking?"

"_Oh, this is Nancy Millner. Is your father there?"_

Dad's snoring so loud I wouldn't be surprised if she can hear him in the background.

"Umm... he's not available right now. Can I take a message?"

There's another pause, and then she answers, _"No, that's alright. I'll just call back later."_

Something about her tone makes me a little wary, but if it was something important she'd leave a message, right?

"Okay, well, I'll tell him you called."

"_Thank you, dear. Tell him I'll talk to him soon."_ That sounded... menacing.

"Sure."

I have a bad feeling about this.

00000

I pull into the parking lot a few spaces away from where Jess and Angie are talking animatedly. As soon as I hop down out of Steve, Jess is right there in front of me, and she does not look happy... at all.

"Hey, Jess."

"Were you ever going to tell me?" she demands.

"Tell you what?"

"I thought we were friends, but every time I asked you about him you were lying to me. Were you ever going to tell me or was watching me make a fool of myself all the time just too much fun?" She's simultaneously fuming and on the verge of tears.

"Jess..." She storms away before I can even figure out what to say.

I turn to Angie with a questioning look, and ask, "What the hell was that?"

Angie sighs, and says, "Okay, you have to understand that her mom is like the town's head gossip. Jess is practically hardwired to believe that all rumours are true, unless that rumour happens to claim that she let a guy feel her up on the first date in which case she's absolutely outraged if you even _think_ it _might_ be true."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Well, after... yesterday there's a new rumour going around." My breath catches and sticks in my throat at the look on her face.

"About what?"

"Everyone's saying that you're dating Edward."

I close my eyes tightly at the words.

"Actually... a lot of people are saying that you guys got together before the accident, and you've been... hiding it. Apparently some guy named Jason is saying he saw you two eating dinner in Port Angeles awhile ago."

"Oh fuck," I mutter, pressing my hands against my forehead.

"Yeah, so now certain people are feeling... betrayed, embarrassed, hurt..."

"Basically you're telling me you're the only one of the group that's going to be willing to talk to me in a friendly manner."

She smiles in a way that I'm sure is meant to be supportive and reassuring and all kinds of other nice things, but it's definitely a _yes_.

"Great."

"Well, I don't know for sure," she hastily adds. "I haven't talked to the guys yet."

I nod and hazard a glance at the people milling around in the parking lot. A lot of people seem to be staring at me.

"So I guess everybody's heard this little piece of 'news'."

"Pretty much."

Suddenly the call from last night comes to mind, the weird no-message-required call for Dad.

"My dad's going to hear about this, isn't he?"

Angie grimaces, and replies, "I would think so." Fuck me.

"This is truly a disaster of epic proportions."

"I'm sure it'll blow over soon."

You know you're in a bad mood when optimism pisses you off.

Angie walks me to my locker and leaves me with a supportive pat on the back. She's not even to the end of the hall when Mike shows up at my side.

"Are you going to yell at me now?"

"What? No. Who yelled at you?"

"Jess."

"Oh. Ignore her. She's just got her panties in a twist because he's never paid her any attention. She's lovesick, makes your brain mushy," he says with a small smile.

"You seem to be taking Forks' latest big story well." Surprisingly well for a guy who flipped out over a very similar issue.

"I don't believe it's true."

"Oh."

He stares at his shoes for a moment, before he looks up and asks, "It's not true, right?"

"No, I'm not dating him, but we are kind of friends... I think."

He gives me a resigned nod and walks me to class in silence.

00000

Scoping out the cafeteria from the hallway makes me feel a bit like a creeper, but I suppose it has to be done. Jess is sitting at the normal table with Angie and Tyler, so far. She's been ignoring me all morning, which, although vastly preferable to the yelling, isn't all that pleasant.

The guys all seem to be on the same page, but I'm not sure that I want to sit with Jess. I'm kind of pissed at her. I mean I didn't _do_ anything.

"What are you doing?"

I turn around with an involuntary gasp to face Edward.

"You scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry. What are you looking at?" he asks, angling his head to look over my shoulder.

"I'm trying to decide whether or not I want to subject myself to Jess for the lunch period."

"I thought she was your friend."

"Yeah, but she's mad at me, so now I'm pissed with her, and I'm not sure I want to deal with that. Confrontation makes me nauseous, which isn't ideal for lunchtime."

He nods and then buries his hand in the back of his hair. "Look I just want to... Alice tells me there are some rumours going around, and I wanted to say that I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you any problems."

"It's not your fault, Edward."

"I'm pretty sure it is. I should've left you alone. Things would've been much simpler."

He looks so sad. I reach out to wrap my fingers loosely around his wrist. "Edward, this may surprise you, but small town gossip doesn't come anywhere close to making the list of things I even remotely care about. Celebrity gossip, on the other hand, is my life," I add dryly.

"You don't even know who Ryan Seacrest is," he says with a hesitant smile.

"I do... kind of. He hosts some show."

"_American Idol_. Alice is obsessed with it."

"Hmm. Well, I guess I should probably get my lunch."

"Might be a good idea for me as well."

I hesitate with my hand on the door, before pushing it open. As we walk towards the lunch line I scan the cafeteria again. Mike and Eric have now joined the table, and the empty chair is next to Jess. I groan, probably louder than I intended to because Edward turns and follows my gaze.

"You could come sit with us," he offers.

"What?"

"Come sit with us."

"Oh, Edward, I don't..." I start, before he interrupts.

"I mean, I understand if you think that might make it worse or something. I just figured... it doesn't matter. I'll just..." he rushes out. His panic is starting to make me panic.

"No!" It startles him into silence, while I chuckle nervously and blush profusely. "I just... I don't want to intrude or anything."

"We're friends now right?"

"Yeah," I reply with a smile.

"Then you're not intruding."

"Are you sure they won't mind?"

He laughs, and says "I had to resort to bribery to prevent Alice from coming over and dragging you back with her, and you seem to have made a good impression on Emmett. Just ignore Rosalie and keep in mind that Jasper rarely talks to anyone and it'll be fine."

I look over uncertainly and notice there's an extra chair next to his empty one.

"Alright."

"Alright," he says happily, picking up a lunch tray.

There's an awkward silence for a few moments while we wait in line.

"So... let's talk about your irrational fear of Mr. Rogers," I say teasingly.

"I'm not afraid of Mr. Rogers."

"You said you're afraid of cardigans, and he always wore them."

"Only the horizontal.... how long are you going to bring this up?"

"Until it stops being funny, so... forever."

"Fantastic," he mutters.

We make our way through the line and then start across the cafeteria. Trying to ignore the fact that everyone is staring at me, or I guess us, is much harder when you're walking to the other end of a crowded room.

When we finally get to the table, Alice is sitting next to one of the empty chairs smiling like a maniac. She's literally vibrating like a... child's windup toy.

Alice pats the seat of the chair next to her and squeezes my arm briefly when I sit down. She looks over my shoulder and scowls at Edward, muttering, "finally" just loud enough for him to hear as he takes the seat next to me.

"Bella, you've already met Alice."

"Hello Alice."

"It's nice to see you again. This is Jasper," she says putting her hand on his arm. He smiles slightly and nods. "And then there's Rosalie, and I understand you were previously accosted by Emmett."

"He's not the only one," Edward says, with a pointed look at Alice.

"Hey, Bella," Emmett greets.

"Hi, Emmett."

"That was completely different. I didn't scare her," Alice replies to Edward.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Don't be a jerk, Edward," Alice says pertly.

"I thought you were a vegan," Emmett says suddenly, cutting off Edward's response.

"What?"

"You're eating chicken fingers. I thought you were a vegan."

"Why would you think she's a vegan?" Edward asks.

"Because she said... I thought you made... isn't that why they were _vegan_ cookies?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Rosalie asks impatiently.

"Bella made vegan cookies. Didn't you?"

"Umm..." I sneak a glance at a panicked looking Edward. "Yeah."

"Why would you make vegan cookies if you're not a vegan?"

"Just... I wanted to try it out... the recipe. I wanted to try out the recipe."

"On Edward?"

"I don't like raisins."

"Does anybody like raisins?"

"What cookies are we talking about?" Alice asks.

"The Christmas ones," Edward replies, glaring at her threateningly.

"Oh right, the _vegan_ Christmas cookies. You know I don't really like raisins either. They always remind me of little bugs," she says with a mischievous smile. I guess the ladybug cookies weren't completely secret. "So, Edward. We talked earlier about you driving me down to Seattle on Saturday, but you didn't tell me what you decided."

Edward's jaw tightens and his head drops a bit, before he forces out, "Yes, of course I'll drive you."

"Such a good brother," Alice coos.

"Don't push it," Edward grumbles.

"Oh fine. I don't want to talk to you anymore anyway," she says, sticking out her tongue at him, and then she turns to me with a smile. "So, Bella, what are you doing on Sunday?"

"I don't know."

"Well, maybe..." she starts, stopping when Jaspers puts his hand at the base of her neck and squeezes softly. She turns toward him and after some weird silent conversation thing Alice sighs and says, "Alright, never mind." She seems put out for a moment before she straightens her shoulder and squeals, "This is just really exciting."

Jasper and Emmett chuckle, Rosalie rolls her eyes, and Edward ducks his head in embarrassment before turning his head slightly to give me an apologetic smile. I smile back, hoping I'm not as red as I feel. At least I can take comfort in the fact that I'm not the only one blushing, but I think it suits Edward better. It looks cute on him. That's so fucking unfair.

"So anyway..." Emmett starts uncomfortably, clearly trying to break the awkward silence that's engulfed the table. "You're from Arizona, right?"

"Yeah."

"It's hot there, I guess."

"Usually, yeah."

"It's not very hot here."

"Not particularly."

"That's gotta suck."

"It's nice to not have to wear sunscreen all the time."

"Yeah, sunscreen's awful. I've never worn it myself... smells weird though."

Alice starts giggling quietly, then Edward's shoulder start shaking in silent laughter, and soon enough it's spread around the whole table. Even Rosalie laughs a little. She's even more beautiful when she doesn't look like she wants to rip someone's head off.

"Has anyone seen my history textbook? I think I lost it somewhere at home," Emmett says.

"It's green, right? I think I saw it..." Rosalie interrupts Alice with a noise of disgust, and then spits out what looks like rice pudding. Very bad rice pudding, apparently.

"Wow Rose, I always thought you swallowed," Edward says.

"I'm sure I do in your dreams, Eddie," she sneers back.

"Some people are actually trying to consume food at this table, you know," Alice chides.

Edward goes to open his mouth, but Alice cuts him off with, "If you open your mouth again I'll have you shitting bubbles for a week, Edward."

"Way to raise the bar of lunch table conversation Alice."

"Rosie, you can take that bar and shove it up your..."

"You guys do realize we've got company today, right?" Emmett says.

Three heads snap around to look at me, eyes wide in their frozen faces. Edward looks like I just walked in on him killing someone, someone I like. That was random.

"Gee thanks, Emmett," I mutter, fidgeting under the unwavering gazes.

Emmett's booming laugh seems to break the moment, and the three of them suddenly become absolutely enthralled with what's left of their lunches. Jaspers tugs lightly on Alice's hair with a calm chuckle. She swats his hand away the first time, but the second time gets him a reluctant smile.

"Well, you've got to admit, we keep things interesting," Emmett laughs.

"Great, now we're the entertainment?" Rosalie says.

"Don't try to deny your exhibitionism, baby."

"And I think that's enough family time for now," Edward says, pushing away the rest of his lunch. "Come on, Bella. I think you've been subjected to enough."

He doesn't speak again until we put a fair bit of distance between us and the cafeteria.

"So... just to clarify, that thing with Rosalie... that's just how we talk. I would never say that to anyone else."

"It's alright, I'm sure my ears will stop bleeding soon."

He laughs nervously. "Aside from that... what'd you think?"

"They seem nice... does Alice always... vibrate?"

"Only when she's excited."

"That's a little scary."

"You have no idea," he says with a smile.

00000

I'm home for less than an hour when I hear a car pull into the driveway. My stomach flips and my heart rate picks up. I've been dreading Dad's arrival since I got out of school, and the fact that he's come home so early isn't making me feel better.

I walk slowly down the hall and peer out the little window in the door. It's not Dad, it's Jake. Well that's not better at all.

I open the door and step out onto the small front porch.

"Hey, Jake."

"I hear you're dating _him_ now," he says, coming to a stop at the foot of the stairs.

"I'm not... we're just friends."

"You shouldn't be anything to him. You should stay as far away from him as you can get."

"Why? Because he's been in a few fights? Because he drives too fast or he doesn't talk enough?"

"There are reasons, very good reasons."

"That's it? _There are reasons_? You're going to have to do better than that, Jake."

He groans in frustration, and reluctantly mumbles something about a centre on the reservation.

"What?"

"He burned down the recreation centre in La Push," he states clearly.

That's ridiculous. That can't be true.

"My father would've told me that."

"You think I'm lying?" He looks away before explaining, "Your father doesn't know. Dr. Cullen paid for a new one with the understanding that no one would say anything about what happened to the first. Only the council knows."

"But _you_ know?" Maybe he's lying. He must be lying. Would Jake do that?

"They were meeting at my house. I guess my dad thought I was asleep. He's a psycho, Bella. I don't want you getting hurt."

I know Edward loves fire, but there's no way he would do that, right? There's a big difference between accidentally blowing up a shed and full-on arson. He's not an arsonist.

"I don't believe you."

**A/N:**Addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads are on my profile page.


	17. Abby Normal and the Cupcake Pants

**A/N:** Special thanks to the ladies from the threads who put some real thought into answering my weird ass question, and clearly know a hell of a lot more about cupcakes than I do.

Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net), and Denise.

**Abby Normal and the Cupcake Pants**

This is by far the most awkward moment in my life yet. It's worse than the time I tripped on the auditorium stage in front of my whole school, worse than the time I threw up on one of my teachers at the fall fair when I was seven, and yes, even worse than the time I walked in on Mom and her then boyfriend half naked on the couch.

I didn't even mean to say it. I don't really think Jake's lying; at least I'm pretty sure I don't. I just think he's _wrong_. There's a difference.

But I said it. I said it like I think he's lying and now he's staring at me incredulously.

"You don't... believe me?" he asks slowly.

"Well, umm... it's not that... I just think you're wrong, not necessarily intentionally, but still... wrong."

"How exactly would I be _wrong_ if it's not intentional? I heard it directly from the council."

"You _overheard_ it from the council. There could be things you don't know," I reply defensively.

"I heard them say he did it. I heard them say Dr. Cullen anonymously paid for the new centre as a bribe for them to keep it a secret."

"How do they know who paid if it was anonymous?"

"Anonymous _publically_ not... they know it was him," he says, his voice rising in frustration.

"Maybe there are things they don't know." It ends up sounding a lot like an unsure question when it was supposed to be more of a firm statement or at least a confidently expressed theory.

"Like what?"

"Well, maybe... they're wrong, and they just don't know it."

Jake stares at me silently for a moment, before he asks, "Are you being serious right now?"

"Yes! Obviously I don't know what happened, so I can hardly explain the situation, but I'm sure it's all just a misunderstanding... or something."

"Or something," he mutters.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snap.

"Nothing."

"No, not _nothing_. You clearly meant something."

"I don't see why it matters. It's already been established I have no idea what the hell I'm talking about," he says bitterly.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"So, what did you mean?"

"I meant... I think you're wrong."

"...because I don't know what I'm talking about."

"No. You can be wrong and still know what you're talking about." _What_? This conversation would be so much easier if I had something more than _because I don't think he would do that_ to justify myself.

"How is that?"

"I don't know... it made sense in my head."

"Clearly your head is not all that familiar with the concept of sense."

"Well, now you're just being a jerk."

"Great. I'm a jerk that doesn't know what he's talking about, like an asshole village idiot."

I sigh loudly and glare at him for a moment, before saying, "I'm not talking to you anymore."

I turn towards the house, wrenching the screen door open harder than necessary.

"What, that's it?" he calls incredulously behind me.

I partially turn to face him and say, "Clearly this conversation isn't going anywhere. I'm not wasting my time standing out here fighting with you when I could be doing something productive and far more enjoyable in the house."

He calls my name as I walk inside, but I ignore it, shutting the front door on the entire thing.

00000

"If Dad heard something he would've mentioned it, right? But he didn't say anything about it. He didn't say much about anything, actually. Maybe he just had a long day at work. He did seem tired," I mutter quietly to myself on the way to school.

I sigh, leaning back against the headrest as I pull up to a red light.

I know I probably should've told Dad about this stupid fucking rumour before he heard it from someone else who might actually believe it, but after my oh so mature tiff with Jake I really wasn't in the mood to experience the Dad version. I probably wouldn't have reacted well, at all.

As I drive through an intersection I wonder what would happen if Jake told Dad about the rec centre. But it's a secret. He wasn't even supposed to know, let alone tell me. Hopefully that means he won't tell Dad. That would be really bad. He might actually kill Edward if he thought he was really dangerous.

I'm just past the town diner when Steve starts making a weird knocking sound, and then a kind of screeching sound.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I hiss at the dashboard. "Cut it out!"

I pull off to the side of the road just before Steve jerks to a rough halt. I take a few deep, calming breaths, before I turn the key again. The engine makes a horrible grinding noise for a few moments and then it just stops making noise all together.

"What the fuck, Steve!" I slam my hand against the dashboard, which really fucking hurts. "Ow! Goddamn it. What the fuck did I do to you?"

I slump forward in my seat, seriously considering just walking home and staying in bed all day. I like bed. Bed is nice and soft, and it doesn't make weird noises at me.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Steve. You've really screwed me over here."

Sighing, I dig my cell phone out of the bag on my passenger seat. It isn't until I've gotten to his name in my address book that I realize I can't call Jake about this. I'm sure he's already on his way to school, not to mention the fact that he probably doesn't want to talk to me right now, let alone drive out to Forks to help me.

Maybe Steve is punishing me for fighting with the guy who's essentially his doctor. I think I've taken this whole anthropomorphism thing a bit too far.

Would it be really crappy to apologize to him just so he'd fix my car? Yeah, that's probably... you know, callous or something. Plus it'd only make him angrier when he figured it out.

But more immediately I need to get a ride to school before I end up late. Luckily I have a back up ride.

The phone rings and rings and rings and rings, until, _"Hi, you've reached Edward Cullen's phone. He can't answer right now, but if you leave your name, number, and..."_

"_Alice, what are you doing?" _

"_None of your..."_

I hang up on his voicemail message and immediately hit redial.

Once again it rings and rings and rings and rings, until, _"What?"_ Comes growling out.

"Umm... Edward?"

There's a long pause eventually followed by a very meek, _"Bella?"_

"Yeah."

"_Oh... hey."_

"Hey. Sounds like your morning's going as well as mine is."

"_What?"_ His voice sounds groggy and confused.

"You growled."

"_Right, sorry. I was asleep. Why exactly did you call?"_

"My truck broke down."

"_Steve's dead?"_

"He's not _dead_. He's just... unconscious."

"_Oh... that sucks. Why are you telling me this right now?"_

"Because I need a ride, Edward. Are you actually awake?"

"_Awake, yes. Fully functioning... in my brain, probably not."_

"_Fully functioning in your brain_? Really?"

"_Shut up, I'm tired,"_ he grouses, before he yawns loudly. _"What time is it?"_

"Eight thirty-five."

"_Right. Where are you?"_

"Lester Street."

"_Okay. I'll be there in a few."_

"You're going to be alright to drive, right?"

"_Oh, yeah it's fine. I may have to drive the speed limit, but I'm sure that'll only kill me on the inside a little bit. I'll definitely live."_

"Well that's good I guess."

"_Yeah."_ And then he hangs up on me.

I scroll through my phone to Dad's extension at the police station and wait for him to pick up.

"_Chief Swan speaking."_

"Hey, Dad."

"_Bella? Shouldn't you be at school?"_

"Well I was on my way, until the truck broke down."

"_It's not smoking is it?"_

"My truck is not on fire, Dad."

"_Alright, alright. Did you get it to the side of the road?"_

"Yes."

"_Good. Pop the hood and take a look under there."_

Luckily it's only snowing lightly when I climb out of the cab, although the side of the road's gotten a little muddy from the instantly melting flakes. I prop open the hood with ginger fingers and scan the heart of Steve, the dirty, greasy heart of Steve. Is it anal retentive to wash a car engine? Because I'm seriously considering putting aside a Saturday to scrub the hell out of this thing.

"What am I looking for?"

"_Check the dipstick first."_

"The what?" Don't laugh. I really don't want a repeat of the comforter debacle.

"_The dipstick... for the oil."_

"Could you describe it?"

"_It has a handle sticking up. I think the top on yours is red."_

"I think I see it."

"_Okay, now take it out, and..."_

"Wait, you want me to _touch_ it?" I interrupt. I haven't even had the chance to clean it yet and he wants me to put my hand in there.

"_Well, yes."_

"But it's all dirty. I don't want to go to school covered in motor oil."

"_Well..."_

"Everything's grimy."

"_How do you expect me to help you fix it if you won't touch it?"_

"I just want you to get it towed home for me. I have to be at school soon."

"_Oh, yeah I can do that. You know I never really took you for the prissy type."_

"Just because I don't want to go to school covered in grease and oil doesn't make me prissy," I reply defensively.

"_You also wouldn't let me teach you how to gut a fish."_

"Well, that's just nasty. Anyway I'm on Lester, and I've already got a ride so you can take your time."

"_Alright, I'll take care of it in a bit."_

"Thanks, Dad. I'll see you later."

"_Bye, Bells."_

"Bye." I slam down the hood, and start walking around to my door when my foot hits a particularly slick patch of mud. I fall on my ass, and then land on my back on the dead roadside grass with a slight squelching sound.

"Fucker!" Luckily the ground isn't _really_ wet, but it's still soft and damp. I consider doing something productive like getting up off the ground, but just lying here is easier and the wet snow actually feels kind of nice.

Today sucks ass. Fridays aren't supposed to suck ass. They're supposed to be great. I should just get Edward to drive me home, and then I can go back to bed.

I'm pretty much zoning out on the ground thinking about how much I wish I was in bed right now, when I hear, "Bella... what are you doing?" Oh, shit.

Cracking an eye open, I mutter, "I'm just, you know..." I pause, waving one hand around expansively, before letting it flop down onto the ground again. "Failing at life."

"Huh, how's that going?" Edward asks with a chuckle.

"I think I'm a natural."

"You don't have a concussion do you?" He comes over and squats down next to me, before he lifts my head off the ground.

"Nope." He's making my neck go to an uncomfortable angle, but umm... the touching is kind of nice, so I don't say anything. I do start blushing though, which is just wonderful.

His fingers press firmly against the back of my head as he asks, "Does that hurt?"

"I didn't hit my head."

"What did you hit?"

"Mostly my ass." My face gets even hotter and I start awkwardly laughing at myself. I can't believe I just said that in front of him.

"I guess you probably don't want me to check that for injuries." I make a poor attempt at stifling the overwhelming urge to giggle like a two-year-old hopped up on sugar, and he gives me a slightly worried look. Clearly we've both noticed I've gone a little loopy.

"I think it's probably fine." I sit up quickly, putting a little distance between us in the hope that I'll regain the small amount of sanity I normally possess. What the fuck is wrong with me today?

"You're not hurt at all?"

"No, I'm perfectly fine."

"So, basically you've been lying on the ground feeling sorry for yourself?"

"Pretty much."

"That's kind of sad."

"Fuck off."

"You know you should really be more polite to people who help you, especially when they have to get out of bed to do it. I gave up my free period of sleep to be here."

"Fine. Fuck off, _please_."

His head drops back as he laughs loudly. "That's so much better."

"Seriously though, thanks."

"No problem."

00000

Today is a lot like yesterday. Jess is ignoring me, Angela keeps giving me overly sweet smiles every time our eyes meet, and Mike, Eric, and Tyler are going out of their way to pretend that nothing's out of the ordinary. Also people I've never even seen before are staring at me.

It isn't until I get to the end of the lunch line that I realize I'm not sure where I'm sitting. Everyone at my usual table is being weird in one way or another, and, although I sat there yesterday, I can't just assume that means I'm invited to sit with the Cullens again. Edward isn't even there yet. It's just Jasper, Rosalie and a bunch of empty seats. There's no way in hell I'm going over with only those two there.

I stand there holding my tray indecisively for a few more moments, and then a small arm snakes through mine.

"Come on," Alice chirps, practically yanking me in the direction she wants me to go.

"Okay."

"Do you like shopping?"

"No."

"Really? Not even a little?"

"No, why?"

"Just wondering," she turns back to me briefly to flash me a smile, before she lets go of my arm and bounces towards Jasper.

I quietly take the seat next to her, and start fidgeting with my lunch while Alice trills out a monologue about her morning to a nodding Jasper.

Emmett drops down in the seat next to Rosalie, pecking her on the cheek before he gives me a wave.

"You know I'm still waiting for that lunch, Bella."

"You didn't punch anybody."

"Give me a name, and I'll do it now. Seriously I'll do your homework if I have to."

"You're such a jerk," Alice laughs.

"What? I just want food. Is that so wrong?"

"It's not about the food. You could get Esme to make you a lunch if you asked nice enough. You just want to piss off Edward." Why do they think that would piss off Edward?

"He is funny when he gets all mopey."

"Nice work genius," Rosalie says.

"What?" Emmett asks.

"Well she's not going to give you food now, is she?" Am I? They know Edward better than I do. Maybe it would piss him off.

"Dammit. Thanks a lot, Allie."

"I'm sorry if I ruined your nefarious plans," Alice responds with an eye roll.

"Whatever. All that brilliant planning was distracting me from figuring out a way to avoid my history test next period anyway."

"Why didn't you just study?" Rosalie asks.

"You know how much I hate history, Baby. Why do we even have to learn it?"

"If you don't know it, you're bound to repeat it," Edward says as he sits down next to me, shooting me a smile as he slides his tray onto the table.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I wasn't going to cut my wife's head off, before I started reading up on good old Harry 8.0."

"Gee, thanks," Rosalie responds dryly.

00000

My eyes flick to the clock over the door again. Ten minutes to go. It was twelve the last time I checked and fifteen the time before that.

"What's up?" Edward asks, looking up from his bio worksheet.

"What?"

"You keep looking at the clock."

"I have gym this afternoon. I hate gym. I really don't want to deal with it right now." Before this whole _Hamlet_ fiasco Jess and I became partners for badminton. We still are. She still isn't talking to me.

"So don't," he says with a shrug.

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes when people don't want to go to a class, they don't go. They call it skipping," Edward responds in a patronizing tone.

"And what am I supposed to do instead, sit on a bench in the yard till school's over? You drove me, I can't leave."

"So, I'll skip too. I have English, but I already speak it relatively well, so I can probably manage without the lesson."

"I guess I could start on my math homework."

"You can't skip and do work, it completely defeats the point. If you're going to skip you have to slack off."

"There are _rules_?"

"Of course there are rules, or at the very least there's expected conduct."

"What would you suggest I do instead?"

"I don't know. Sometimes when I cut class I go and hang out in the woods behind the school, on dry, cloudy days obviously."

"I'm not a particularly woodsy person."

"I'm not talking about hiking out into the woods to camp. It's mostly just walking a bit and then sitting. I could show you some places."

Being outside would definitely be preferable to going to gym and dealing with Jess. I'm sure Mike would be my partner, but then he'd have to drop the partner he has, and Mr. Rickman _really_ seems to hate when people change partners. Edward's right, he is a dick. I really don't want to deal with him today either.

I look up to agree and find Edward staring at me intently. My brain blanks out for a moment, and I end up staring back.

"Have you done question eight, yet?" I blurt out when my thought process kicks back in.

He smirks at me, and turns back to his binder. "You distracted me before I could start it." You're kind of distracting yourself Edward.

"Oh."

"Are you stuck on eight?"

"No, I'm good." I should've said _yes_. Asking about eight doesn't make sense if I've already done it. I guess my thought process isn't completely in working order.

He looks at me appraisingly for a moment, before he turns back to his sheet.

"I'll skip with you," I murmur quietly.

He looks up with a smile. I smile back before we both return to work.

A few moments later I check the clock again and find there's only four minutes to go, but now I can't wait for the minutes to pass.

00000

"That wasn't what I said."

"I'm pretty sure it was," I laugh, tugging a dead plant out by the roots. We're sitting cross-legged on the cold ground surrounded by towering trees.

"So, what's going on with your friends?"

"That was a subtle subject change."

"You changed the subject first."

"I did not."

"Yes, you did. I asked why you're suddenly so interested in missing gym and then you started talking about your mom sending you an ugly scarf in the mail, which was really random by the way."

"I didn't say ugly, I said badly made. She's taken up knitting. It's already coming undone and I've barely even touched it."

"We're not talking about your ugly scarf again," he says forcefully.

"Fine. What do you want to talk about?"

"Gym!"

"I've never liked gym. Is it really so surprising that I'd want to avoid it?"

"Alright. So, what's going on with your friends?"

I sigh, dropping my head down to rest on my palm. "Shiny new toy syndrome."

"Could you expand on that a little?"

"One boy takes an interest because I'm the new girl in a fairly constant town and suddenly all his friends are interested. Like little boys with a new toy."

He chuckles and asks, "And what about... the girl, the one that used to walk you to my car?"

"It's a girl thing," I reply dismissively.

"So, explain it to me."

"Me? I don't know anything about girl things." There's silence while I fiddle with a fallen branch. After a few moments I look up to find him staring at me expectantly. "She kind of has a thing for you... a big thing."

His face scrunches up in confusion, and he asks, "Who?"

"Jess."

He just stares at me.

"Jessica Stanley."

Still staring at me.

"You sat next to each other in Geography."

"Geography? In grade nine?"

"She's liked you since the fifth grade or something."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." He's looking at me like he thinks I'm playing a trick on him.

"She says my name funny?"

"Like she's breathing in when she says it."

"Exactly."

"Cause she likes you."

"_Really_?"

"Yeah."

"I thought she had asthma," he mutters quietly.

My brain just freezes. I hold the laughter in for as long as I can, but... asthma? _Really_?

He doesn't seem to find it very amusing, but he quietly waits until I've calmed down before he sceptically asks, "Are you sure she likes me?"

"She's mildly obsessed."

"And that's why she's mad at you?"

"Yes."

"I guess it's a good thing we're not really dating then."

"What?"

"Well... that would make it worse wouldn't it? I mean if she won't talk to you for being friends with me..." he says, letting it trail off at the end.

"Umm... actually the problem is that she _does_ think we're dating."

"Why don't you tell her we're not?"

"She didn't give me the opportunity."

"So, make your own."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because she's wrong. If she wants to be mad at me without talking to me about it then that's her problem."

"That's mature."

"Oh, what do you know. You though she had asthma."

"It's a perfectly reasonable theory."

"Her voice only goes funny when she says your name. I don't think that's generally how asthma works."

"Well, I don't know. It's not like we had long conversations all the time. She asked me for pens a lot and that was pretty much it."

"The pen thing was also because she likes you."

"Really?"

"Yup."

"And I'm supposed to get that from breathy names, and lack of pens?" he asks.

"Couldn't have been clearer if she'd started calling you... something sentimental, honey or sweetie or... something... _baby_."

"Are you serious?"

"God no. The girl's being a nut about the whole thing."

"I just thought she was forgetful... and asthmatic."

"You really had no idea?"

"I'm still not entirely convinced you're not making fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you, Edward."

"Why would she like me?"

"Because you're, you know... likeable."

"Could you be more specific?" he asks with a smirk.

"You're pretty," I say playfully, laughing at his scowl. Something hard hits my shoulder, and I look down to find a chunk of bark next to me. "Did you throw that at me?"

He just smiles. I whip it back at him, but it doesn't even come close to hitting him.

"You could've taken my eye out with that you know," I grumble.

"Unlike some people, I can aim."

"Jackass."

There's an extended silence and my thoughts drift back to what Jacob said. I don't like to think he would lie about something like that, but if he's not, is it possible he's completely wrong?

How exactly do you ask someone if they burned down a building? I suppose I could ask if he wants to go burn something and see how he reacts. Of course if it isn't true than he'll probably think I'm completely insane instead of how I assume he thinks of me now, slightly crazy but relatively harmless... aside from the hitting.

Maybe I shouldn't say anything. He might be offended if I bring it up.

"What are you thinking about?" Edward asks, bringing me back to the moment.

"What?"

"You look like you're trying to solve a calculus problem in your head."

"I just... I was thinking about something someone said to me yesterday."

"Something mean? Was it Newton? Because I really wouldn't mind punching him again."

"No. It was about a fire... in La Push."

He looks very weary all of a sudden. That's not a good sign.

"There's been a fire?"

"It was a while ago. The recreation centre burned down."

"What did this person say?" he asks tightly.

"They seemed to think you had something to do with it," I reply quietly.

His jaw clenches as he turns his head away. He's angry. He's really very angry.

"So who is this friend?"

"Why?"

"I just wanna... know."

"You can't punch him."

"Only a little."

"No!"

"If I promise not to, will you tell me?"

"If you're not going to punch him, you don't need to know."

"Fine. I am going to punch him, so I do need to know. Who was it?" When I don't say anything his entire body seems to get tighter. This is probably not the best conversation to start when I'm out in the woods alone with him. As soon as the thought comes up I harshly shove it down.

"Is it true?" I ask softly. It can't be true. How can it be true?

He looks over at me quickly, and his face softens. He looks more sad and frightened than angry now, and I know. It is true.

"What happened?"

He sighs, roughly rubbing his hair until it's standing up in crazy spikes.

"I went up to the reservation to buy fireworks. There was a guy at the store with this old beater car he was trying to get rid of. I'm surprised the thing even ran. I offered him some money for it and he sold it to me."

"What does this have to do with the centre?"

"I'm getting to that. Anyway, I wanted to burn it. I like to burn things. I think I mentioned that before."

"I couldn't drive it all the way to Forks, but there was a big empty lot next to the La Push recreation centre, so I took the car there. Gas tanks explode, did you know that? I didn't know that. I guess I should've been able to figure it out. I saw what happens to paint cans and a tank of gas would only be worse."

"The car exploded and some of the brush on the lot went on fire, and then it... spread. I panicked and called Carlisle. It had been an unusually dry week and the building was old. It didn't take long for it to go up."

His head is down and his hands are hanging limply between his knees. He looks defeated, and it's making my chest hurt. I have no idea what to do.

I mean it was stupid certainly, but not _psychotic_.

I sigh dramatically and throw a nearby stick at him. "You're a real piece of work, you know that?" I say playfully. He looks up at me confused, and I add, "Remind me to never leave you alone with Steve."

"I don't harbour any ill will towards Steve."

"You better not. I have guns at my house."

"You'd choose Steve over me?" he asks. His tone is joking, but it's still a little stilted.

"I'm afraid you don't stand a chance."

"That hurts."

"Would you have preferred me to lie?"

"Yes. That would've been much better."

"Oh. Well you should've told me that when you asked the question. I'm not a mind reader."

"Fair enough." He goes quiet as he pushes his fingers against the hard dirt. "We should probably get going."

"Alright."

We're almost back to the school lot, when he stops and asks, "You really don't care?"

"It was an accident. I understand that."

He stares at me intently for a moment, before he takes a step towards me and suddenly I'm surrounded by him, his arms around my waist, his cool cheek pressing against my temple. Edward Cullen is hugging me. I tentatively wrap my arms around his back. I'm not much of a hugger and I really wasn't expecting this so it feels a little awkward, but it's still kind of nice.

Edward seems embarrassed when he pulls away, but he relaxes a little when I smile at him. The silence is a bit tense after that, but it's not necessarily uncomfortable.

00000

"Are you reading Frankenstein in English?" Edward asks, as my fingers desperately clutch at the sides of my seat. I'd forgotten just how scary riding with him is.

"Yeah, we started it on Monday."

He nods absently as he whips around a corner. "Whenever we talk about it in class all I can think of is _Young Frankenstein_," he says with a laugh.

"What's that?"

"_Young Frankenstein_... the movie." He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, but I've got no idea what he's talking about.

"Never heard of it."

"Well you should watch it, it's really funny."

"What kind of funny?"

"Mel Brooks kind of funny."

"Is that... who is that?"

He turns to me with a look of complete shock on his face. "You don't know who Mel Brooks is?"

"No."

"_Men in Tights_, _Space Balls_... _Dead and Loving it_? That's the only vampire movie I've watched all the way through."

"What kind of movies are these?" I'm beginning to suspect that we've started talking about porn without my noticing it.

"The funny kind." Probably not porn then. Unless... I wonder if they make comedy porn. I guess people probably aren't looking for laughs while they... yeah.

"I've never heard of them."

"I don't even know how that's possible. I'm going to be honest. I don't know if I can be friends with someone who doesn't know who Mel Brooks is."

"You seem to be taking this very personally," I laugh.

"This is a very serious situation, Bella. It needs to be remedied immediately."

"Alright, I'll go to the movie store tomorrow."

"They never have stuff like that. You should come to my house."

"What?"

"I've got them all at my house. You have to see them. It's completely unacceptable that you haven't."

"Umm... okay."

My arms shoot out to brace myself against the door as Edward suddenly does a u-turn without slowing down. I really need to get Steve fixed as soon as possible. My nerves can only take so much of this.

00000

There haven't been many times in my life when I've gone to a house with a private road. This is a first actually.

Hell having a driveway at Dad's is a luxury for me after having to park on the street at Mom's.

The house is fucking huge too. I suppose it'd have to be with seven people living in it. I wonder if Alice and Jasper, and Emmett and Rosalie share rooms or not.

"Your house is very... nice."

He laughs and says, "Yeah, it freaked me out the first time I saw it, too."

"So, it's not just me?"

"No, I think that's a pretty common reaction."

"Good to know."

Edward leads me onto the front porch, through the big blue door and into the bright, airy living room.

"Do you want a drink or something?" He seems to be the one that's nervous now that we're inside.

"Okay."

"Great."

I follow him through the house until we come to the kitchen and... apparently we're not the only ones here.

Carlisle is backed up against the fridge, shirtless with dark blue silk pyjama pants. The woman pressed against him, who I'm assuming is his wife, is wearing the matching top. Just as we walk through the door Carlisle's hand starts slides up the back of her thigh, lifting the blue silk to expose dark green boy shorts. I'm _really_ glad she's wearing underwear.

Edward clears his throat with a grimace, and they both look over in surprise.

"You're home early," she says. Her eyes travel over to me and she gets a funny little smile on her slightly blushing face.

"No, I'm not."

She turns to look at the microwave clock, and says, "No, you're not."

"Wow, time really flies when you're..."

"Could you _not_ finish that sentence," Edward interrupts Carlisle.

"Yeah, I guess. You're missing out though. It wasn't going to be what you were expecting."

"I highly doubt that, and for the record... the kitchen? Really? Is nothing sacred in this house anymore? We have to eat the stuff that comes out of here. You do have a bedroom you know."

"We have a whole house actually," Carlisle replies with a brilliant smile. "And I'll have you know I only came down here for an innocent glass of water."

"Right, it was _all_ me," she says.

"Yeah, well the next time you come down here to do God knows what to an innocent glass of water could you get dressed first?"

"I'm dressed!" Carlisle says.

"You're half naked!"

"The illegal to show in public parts are covered. Besides this is my house. I can do whatever I want, wherever I want." He comes forward and ruffles Edward's hair. Edward makes a grunting noise as he twists away from his hand.

"We didn't do anything in here," she says.

"You shouldn't have told him that. We could've gotten him to clean the entire kitchen."

"And traumatized me for life."

"See, two birds with one stone."

"Well, I'm sure the others will be home soon and you can try it on them if you want," she says, before turning to me with a smile. "You must be Bella."

"Yes."

"Lovely to meet you," she starts to put out her hand for me to shake, but before it's fully out she gives it a thoughtful look and drops it to her side with an apologetic smile. Oh wow. "I'm Esme, and you know Carlisle."

"Yeah, hey..." Half-naked doctor man... with sex hair. I give him an awkward wave, and try not to notice just how warm my cheeks are getting.

"It's nice to see you again, Bella. How have you been?"

"Fine. So far I've managed to avoid breaking anything else."

"Quite the accomplishment."

"Yep." Holy crap this is awkward. My face is starting to hurt from my constant nervous smile.

"So, what are you kids up to?" Esme asks, subtly tugging the bottom of the shirt down over her thighs.

"We're going to watch _Young Frankenstein_," Edward replies.

"Can't go wrong with Mel Brooks."

"Exactly. Bella's never even heard of him." The look Esme gives me is very much like the look of shock Edward gave me when I told him.

"Really?" she asks incredulously. "How is that even possible?"

"They're kind of obsessed," Carlisle says with an indulgent smile.

"We're no worse than you and Emmett with those God damn _American Pie_ movies."

"Hey, those are good movies."

"It's soft core porn."

"She always says that like it's a bad thing."

"It's got its place. I just don't think masquerading as a movie with a plot is the _right_ place."

"It would have been better with less plot I'll give you that."

"Well I for one am really glad you two are home today, because this isn't embarrassing at all," Edward says.

"You want embarrassing? Try being sixteen and opening mail from your mother in front of the boy you have a crush on, who also happens to be the most gorgeous guy you've ever met, only to find packages of new underwear. That's embarrassing," Esme says.

"I thought it was amusing," Carlisle laughs.

"Amusing to you, not to me."

"Yeah, we're going now," Edward says, grabbing some drinks out of the fridge before he leads me away.

"It was... nice to meet you," I call over my shoulder, as Edward gently pushes me down the hall.

"You too!"

"We're very casual around here," Edward says as he starts to descend the steps into the basement.

"I noticed that."

"I hope it wasn't too traumatizing for you. I swear they're usually... clothed."

"That was definitely a lot more of my doctor then I ever thought I'd see. Well I guess he's not really _my_ doctor, but I'm sure I'll end up seeing him more than my family doctor."

"You really should try to be more careful."

"It has nothing to do with being careless. It's just the way I am." He opens his mouth, but I cut him off before he can speak. "If you start going on about my lilting head again I will make you bleed."

"I find your latent violent tendencies very worrying."

"Are you putting on the movie or not?"

I sink down into a big soft couch across from the TV, which is huge, as he puts in the movie before flopping down next to me.

"Are you ready for this?"

"Just press play."

"You need to be ready. The right frame of mind is very important for optimising the Mel Brooks experience."

"Edward, start the fucking movie."

"Alright, but for the record that is not the right frame of mind."

I whack him over the head with one of the pillows as the movie starts up, and then settle in to watch. Turns out Mel Brooks is a genius.

00000

We're half way through _Men in Tights_, our second movie of the night, when Alice comes running down the stairs, and jumps onto the couch between us.

"Hello, Bella," she says to me with a big smile.

"Hi, Alice."

"It's my night to cook..."

"So you're saying she should run?"

"I can follow a recipe, Edward," she replies with forced sweetness.

"Yeah... you should run," he says, leaning forward to look at me.

"Oh yeah, because your raw chicken was such a success."

"You're the one that wanted chicken."

"Beef three days in a row is ridiculous."

"And chicken turned out to be a great alternative."

"Shut up. Now back to my point. It's my night to cook and I was wondering if you would like to stay for dinner."

"I wasn't aware you hated her that much."

"I'm talking to Bella, Edward, not you. So, are you going to stay?"

"Sure." I ate Jake's cooking. It can't be much worse than that.

"You're a brave woman. I'm sure you'll be missed."

"You can't kill somebody with stew."

"I'm sure you'll find a way Alice."

"Such a jackass," she mutters as she goes back upstairs.

00000

"How's your mouth?"

"I think it's almost stopped burning," I reply, touching my fingers to my tingling lips.

Dinner had been... interesting. The recipe Alice used called for dried chili flakes, but didn't give an exact amount. One mouthful of dinner and everyone's eyes were watering. Apparently nobody ever explained to Alice that just because they're dried doesn't mean they don't pack a punch. Once we mixed in a huge amount of sour cream it was edible, if lacking in taste. I'll say this for Jake, he may not be the best cook, but he never made me consider sticking my head in the sink to make the burning stop.

"I did warn you."

"Is that the subtle version of _I told you so_?"

"What's the point of me being subtle if you call me out on it?"

"You didn't have to say anything. You could've just left it alone."

"But how am I supposed to point out that I'm right, if I don't say anything?" he asks with a smirk.

I shake my head and go back to watching _Blazing Saddles_.

A few minutes later I notice him looking at me again. He's been doing it off and on since I changed. During dinner the weather took a turn for the worse, and it was decided I should stay over. When I called, Dad was pretty occupied with a game on TV, so I managed to get his permission to stay without saying whose house I was staying at.

They have a guestroom and extra toiletries, but they didn't have any extra pyjamas. I ended up with a pair of Alice's pyjama bottoms that are bubblegum pink with purple cupcakes and red hearts, and a gray long-sleeved shirt of Edward's.

I don't say anything, but when he looks again a couple minutes later, I ask, "Does this make you uncomfortable?"

"What?"

"Me wearing your clothes?"

"No."

"Cause you keep staring at me funny."

"It suits you," he mutters quietly without looking at me.

"Alright then," I reply, because I can't think of anything better to say.

I look down at the pants again, picking at the thin cotton fabric.

"What?" Edward asks.

"What?"

"You made a face."

"Did I?"

"Yeah."

"A face that you noticed because you were staring at me funny again?"

He just smirks at me.

"You don't like cupcakes?"

"I like cupcakes just fine. I just prefer real ones to girly drawings of them."

"It's not that girly," he counters unconvincingly.

"They're pink and purple with some kind of flowery sprinkle things on them." I really do appreciate Alice loaning me them, but they are unarguably girly. She could probably pull them off much better than I can.

"But in a very manly way." Well now he's just mocking me.

"Oh... I thought you were going to say they suited me."

"They don't. Although it is pretty funny."

"Well I'm glad you're enjoying it."

"I really am."

I turn back to the TV, pretending to ignore him when in reality I seem to be hyperaware of him sitting next to me on the couch. Even so, I don't notice him move until his fingers touch my hand. It's almost a cautious touch as he teasingly mutters, "I really think pink might be your colour. You do seem to wear it very often... on your face at least."

"Shut up." It was meant to sound dismissive, but it comes out as a whisper as I watch his fingers glide along the palm of my hand and up my wrist. I sneak a glance at his face and find him intently watching his fingers on my skin.

"Your skin is soft."

"Oh." Jesus Christ that's a pathetic response, and I could barely even get that out.

After a few moments his fingers stop moving and he rests his hands so it's just slightly touching mine.

I've never thought of myself as a physical sort of person. I don't really like to be touched most of the time, but I don't seem to be having a problem with this. In fact at the moment I'm fighting the ridiculously strong urge to move my hand to fit with his, to run my fingers over the bump of his wrist bone that pushes against his pale skin, to rest my head against the shoulder that's so very close to mine.

I continue to look forward as if I'm still watching the movie, but at this point I have no fucking idea what's going on.

My stomach's getting really twisted up from all this _should I or shouldn't I _crap, and it's starting to make me feel nauseous.

Screw it.

I'm not entirely sure how my head ended up on his shoulder during the play, but it's definitely a lot easier than doing it on purpose, a lot less nerve wracking at least. When my head touches his shoulder he stays perfectly still, and then his thumb brushes against the back of my hand, and all the knots in my stomach just fall apart.

00000

"Still awake?" he asks against my hair. I drag my eyes open to find the credits rolling.

I make a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement and he chuckles and says, "I'll take that as a no."

I sit up sluggishly, feeling disoriented in this dark room with my sleepy brain. "I fell asleep on you again."

"And I didn't even take advantage. I'm a disgraceful teenage boy."

"I won't tell anyone." It's possible I just tapped the side of my nose like Santa in '_Twas The Night Before Christmas_, but I'm not entirely sure. That was a really random reference. I need to go to sleep... back to sleep. I need to go back to sleep.

"Thanks. Come on, let's get you upstairs while you're still awake."

"What time is it?"

"Late."

"Hmm. I thought so."

00000

"Pick a cupcake."

"What?"

"Pick a cupcake," Jess repeats slowly, a professional smile spreading across her face.

"What are you talking about?"

"Cupcakes," she says using her hands to draw my attention to the counter between us. "We have five at the moment. The first is a funfetti cupcake." She pushes the first plate forward. "It's nice enough, not as exciting as it first appears and a little on the bland side, but it's got blue icing."

She pulls that plate back, dragging the bottom along the counter, before she pushes the next two forward. "These two are store bought vanilla cupcakes. They have different icing and different sprinkles but neither have much flavour, so despite how different they look they're basically the same."

She moves those two back and pushes forward another one. "Carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. Sometimes the icing can be a bit too sweet, but it's nice and relatively good for you. Despite that, it's not something you _really_ want."

"What's going on?"

"How many times do I have to tell you, Bella? You're picking a cupcake. Now this one," she starts, pushing the last cupcake towards me, "is chocolate with a dark chocolate surprise in the centre, it's rich and sweet, but not overly so. The pretty green icing is lighter, more playful, which balances things out nicely."

She leaves the last one forward as she looks up at me with a smile. "Now it's time to choose."

"Umm..."

"Come on now. It's not a difficult choice. You really only want one."

She pushes the last plate further forward and it spins towards me, stopping when the edge knocks against my fingers.

Suddenly everything goes black and I realize I've woken up in the Cullen guest room. I turn my head to look at the bedside clock and groan. It's four in the morning.

"Fucking cupcakes."

**A/N:** I've been given a great new banner for BLtS and also one for Ethan Church. You can find them and the addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads on my profile page.


	18. Cupcake Cannibalism and Cooking Lessons

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net) and Feisty Y. Beden (FFn and Ravelry).

**Cupcake Cannibalism and Cooking Lessons**

Why the fuck is the world shaking? Are we having an earthquake? Do they have earthquakes in Forks?

I lift my head from the pillow slightly and crack one eye open. The clock next to the bed, which tells me it's only a little past seven in the morning, isn't shaking, and whatever it is seems to be chanting my name. Definitely not an earthquake.

I roll over with a groan to glare half-heartedly at Alice. She's bouncing, fucking _bouncing_ on my bed... well not _my_ bed, but the bed in which I'm currently trying to fucking _sleep_. I wonder if Edward would still speak to me if I "accidentally" bludgeoned his sister to death with an alarm clock.

"_Why_?" It's a long, drawn-out whine. I cringe at the pitch.

"It's time to get up," Alice says, dropping to her knees next to me.

"No. Just... no."

"Come on. I'm bored. I waited half an hour, but clearly you're not going to get up on your own anytime soon."

"It's not even eight yet."

"I've been up for hours."

"Figures you'd be a morning person," I mutter, before turning to bury my face in the pillow.

"Are you going to get up or not?"

"Don't you have other people to harass?" It's muffled by the pillow, but her sigh lets me know she heard me just fine.

"I can harass anyone else in this house whenever I want; you're only here right now. Besides, I don't wake up the couples; I never know what I might walk in on. It's not worth the risk. I used to wake Edward up _every_ morning. Then he started sleeping naked." I can feel her body shudder through the mattress.

My head jerks up and a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Well, hello there." Shit.

"Shut up. I'm going back to sleep." I smash my face back into the pillow and pull the covers up over my bright red cheeks.

"Nope, it's time to get up," she calls, lightly yanking on the comforter, "We have _so_ many things we haven't talked about yet."

"So, talk," I mutter into the pillow.

"I want _you_ to talk."

"Well then you're going to have to wait for me to wake up."

"If I wait for you to wake up then Edward will be awake, and we won't be able to talk... at least not alone. He can be so annoying sometimes."

I sigh and roll over, squinting my eyes against the overhead light. What can I talk about?

"Alice... how do you feel about carrot cake?"

She looks kind of stunned. "Umm... what?"

"Carrot cake, what are your thoughts?"

"On... carrot cake?"

"Yeah."

Alice's face creases into a thoughtful expression, and then she says, "Well it's not really cake, is it? I mean, it's made out of carrots. You can't make cake out of carrots. That's like making éclairs out of beets." She shakes her head in disgust. "Why are we talking about vegetable cake?"

"I had a dream."

"About carrot cake?"

"There were cupcakes. One of them was carrot."

"Do you like carrot cake?"

"It's alright. I think cream cheese icing tastes weird though."

"Well it's not really icing, is it? It's made out of cream cheese. I don't know who they think they're fooling."

"So you're against carrot cake then?"

"I just don't understand why anyone would choose carrot when you could have chocolate. Now I want a chocolate cupcake. Can we talk about something not food related? I haven't had breakfast yet."

"Something like what?"

"Something like... Edward." Shit. If I wanted to talk about Edward I would've asked about chocolate cupcakes.

"What about him?"

"How are things going between you two?"

"Umm... fine?"

She nods, her face carefully neutral. "Fine is good."

"I guess."

"So, did you have a boyfriend in Phoenix?" I stiffen slightly. She seems really eager all of a sudden. I don't have a lot of experience with this girl talk thing, but it didn't seem quite so... important when I was talking to Angie and Jess.

"No."

"Never?" she presses, leaning towards me slightly with an assessing expression. She's really starting to freak me out.

"Well... no."

"Hmm." She leans back, a slight frown on her face, before she quietly mutters something like, "Well this is going to take forever."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm just talking to myself. Tell me about Arizona."

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," she says with a wide smile, flopping sideways to spread out on the bed next to me.

00000

Esme in pyjamas kind of weirds me out now. They're her pyjamas this time, which is far less awkward, but the memories from before are still there. I think I've been traumatized by half-naked Dr. and Mrs. Cullen, or maybe I was traumatized by the embarrassment of walking in on my friend's parents sharing a pair of pyjamas. That makes them sound like Siamese twins or something.

"Do you prefer eggs or pancakes, Bella?" Esme asks as she tiredly shuffles around the kitchen, clutching her oversized coffee cup to her chest like her survival depends on it.

"Whatever's easier."

"If that was the answer I was looking for, I wouldn't have given you an option," she says with a teasing smile that quickly transforms into a yawn.

"Either is fine with me."

"Alright, well I'll make pancakes then, because that's what I want. Carlisle makes better eggs than I do anyway. I wonder if we have any blueberries." She pokes around in the freezer for a minute before she asks, "Where did Alice go?"

"She said she was going to wake up Jasper."

"Right. Okay, I'll be back in a minute." She walks off down the hallway, muttering to herself about frozen blueberries and daughters with no patience.

I sit in the silent kitchen for a few moments, trying not to think about _that_ dream until I hear someone moving behind me. I turn on the stool and find a very rumpled-looking Edward standing hesitantly in the doorway.

"Hey," he says with a small, shy smile.

"Hi." There's a long pause before I break the silence with, "You know it's your kitchen, right? You can come in."

"Yeah," he replies with an awkward laugh as he ruffles the back of his hair. He walks forward slowly, coming to lean against the counter next to me.

It's at this point that I realize that his shirt is inside out. He put it on inside out _this morning_... because he slept naked... like he does every night... _ naked_. I turn away quickly to focus on my hands resting on the counter as my cheeks start to burn. Shit. Fuck. Damn.

"So... did you sleep well?"

"Yep." I answered that way too fast. I need to calm down. This isn't a big deal. I just had a weird dream, a weird cupcake dream... that may or may not have been about Edward... that probably was about Edward... okay it was. I had a weird metaphorical cupcake dream about Edward, but it doesn't have to be weird. I mean it _is_ weird, but it doesn't have to be weird... on the outside. He doesn't _know_. Does he know? No, he can't. Fuck, I need to stop thinking about this.

"Good."

"Yeah." An awkward silence follows. When did talking become hard? Speaking to Edward has always been easy, at least once the _why is the creepy guy talking to me?_ phase passed, but now my mind is empty of things to say, and the silence is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Stupid fucking weird metaphorical cupcake dream.

"I'm surprised Alice isn't down here."

"She was... she woke me up this morning."

"Sorry. I guess I should've warned you about that. She used to do it to me all the time."

"I don't know how much of a difference that would've made. Even with forewarning about Alice's early-morning sadistic tendencies I don't think I would've braved sleeping naked in someone else's house." As soon as the words are out I snap my mouth shut with what would probably be an audible click if Edward's arm didn't jerk at the same time, sending the fruit bowl over the edge of the counter into the sink below with a loud metal-on-ceramic clatter.

"Fuck," he mutters, quickly going around the counter to collect the stuff out of the sink.

"Oh good, you're up," Esme says, walking into the kitchen followed by Emmett who's carrying a big, frosty bag of blueberries. He plunks the bag down onto the counter, while Esme moves to look over Edward's shoulder. "You know you're supposed to take the fruit out of the bowl before you wash it."

"Gee, thanks. I was trying to figure out what I was doing wrong."

Esme sighs loudly and says, "You could've been such a nice young man, if only you hadn't learned how to be facetious."

"Who says _nice young man_?" Edward mutters, placing the seemingly unharmed bowl back onto the counter.

"My mother," Esme replies.

"Well, it's a very small town thing to say."

"Because Forks is such a bustling metropolis."

"Who says _bustling metropolis_?" Edward asks with a smirk.

"Dude, you need to shut up," Emmett mumbles with a sleepy smile.

"No, by all means, Edward, talk while you still can."

Edward turns away from Esme towards me and says, "If I go missing..."

"Yeah, yeah, Playboy Bunny in the Tropics, I got it."

He gives me a bright smile. Suddenly all the cupcake-related awkwardness is gone, and I easily smile back.

"What the hell are you guys talking about?" Emmett asks.

"Nothing," Edward replies, breaking eye contact to look down at the bowl.

"I hate inside jokes," Emmett mutters.

"You'd think you'd be used to not understanding things by now," Edward quips. He's off running before Emmett can lunge far enough to reach him.

Esme just shakes her head and pulls a big mixing bowl out of a cupboard.

00000

After Esme shoos me away from helping to load the dishwasher after breakfast, I follow Edward into the living room. We sit making stilted small talk about school until I realize it's nearly noon, and Dad's probably expecting me to come home at some point.

"I should probably get home."

"Yes, okay."

"Okay."

"Okay." Cue the awkward smiles.

There's a brief pause before Edward clears his throat and stands up. "Alright, I'll get my keys."

"Okay." I sound like an idiot. Stupid fucking cupcakes.

00000

"Here we are," Edward says as we pull up in front of my house.

"Alright. I'll see you Monday."

"Yeah... hey. Is everything okay?"

I pause on my way to open the door. "Umm... yeah."

"Cause you seem weird today... weirder than usual."

"Wow, that's really sweet, Edward," I reply dryly.

"I'm not trying to be a jerk. You just seem... uncomfortable or something."

"I just had a weird dream, and it's kind of freaking me out."

"What kind of weird dream?"

"It was about cupcakes... metaphorical cupcakes."

"As in the cupcakes were a metaphor for something else?" he asks, his face scrunching up in thought.

"Yeah."

"What _were_ the cupcakes?"

"Umm... people. The cupcakes were people."

"So you were metaphorically eating people?"

"What? No! I didn't eat them. It wasn't a dream about cannibalism."

"It's not cannibalism if they're cupcakes."

"_People_ cupcakes!"

"Wait, were they cupcakes made out of people, or cupcakes representing people?"

I turn to him with an incredulous look. "I realize I don't seem like the sanest person, but do you really think I had a dream about cupcakes made out of people? How would you even do that?"

"I don't know how to bake."

"Even if you did know how to bake I don't think you'd automatically know how to make cupcakes out of people. We should really stop talking about this."

"Yeah. Why do we always end up talking about weird shit? First necrophilia and now cannibal cupcakes," Edward says with a laugh.

"I blame you."

"_Me_?"

"Yes, it's all you. You're a horrible influence on me. I don't know why I put up with you."

"If anybody's a bad influence, it's you."

"Well that's just ridiculous. I'm a wonderful person."

"You're the one who brought up necrophilia in the first place."

"No, I was just trying to gross you out. You're the one who went there."

"_You_ went there. I just called you out on it."

"You read into it something that I did _not_ put there."

"It was there. It was there before I... got there."

"What?"

"You know what I mean," he huffs in exasperation.

"You mean it was my fault, which is bullshit."

"Are you ever going to tell me what the cupcakes were supposed to be?"

"I said they were people."

"But... what people? What was the meaning?"

"Oh, I don't know. Let me consult my vast knowledge regarding dream interpretation, and I'll get back to you."

"So you don't know?"

"I have some theories.... a theory. I have a theory." My heart's starting to beat faster, and I don't seem to be able to look him in the eye at the moment.

"Which is?" he prompts.

Shit. Umm...

"I used to call you SWCIFD," I blurt.

"What?"

"Before I called you Edward I called you SWCIFD."

"What the hell is that?"

"Scary Weird Creepy-Incestuous-Family Dude, SWCIFD for short."

His face kind of freezes, and I can't tell if he's amused or angry. This may have been a really bad choice for a subject change. I'm pretty much convinced he's totally pissed, until he starts to laugh. That's a good sign, right? If he were angry and/or upset and/or hurt he wouldn't be laughing... at least not like that.

"Alright, well clearly I made a great first impression," he chuckles.

"Well... you got better. I mean I dropped it eventually."

"When exactly?"

"When you came to get me in Port Angeles and made me eat pie."

He nods and says, "So it was Scary Creepy..."

"Scary Weird Creepy-Incestuous-Family Dude," I mutter, covering my warm cheeks with my hands.

"That's wordy."

"Which is why I shortened it."

"Right."

"Yeah... okay, so I'll see you soon," I rush out, before swinging the door open and practically jumping out. I walk briskly to the door through the misting rain, fighting the urge to look back and see if he's staring at me like I'm a crazy person.

I briefly peek behind my shoulder as I open the front door, but I can't see much of anything behind the heavily tinted windows.

Once the door's closed, I sag against it. Why did everything have to get awkward?

"Stupid fucking cupcakes," I mutter under my breath.

"Bella?"

"Yeah, Dad."

"Can you come here for a minute?" That tone does not bode well. I don't have a good feeling about this.

"Sure," I reply, slowly walking into the living room. Dad's standing stiff as a board with his arms crossed over his chest next to the front windows, the front windows that look out on the front yard where Edward was parked only seconds ago. This is so not good.

"I thought you were at a friend's."

"I was."

"So, why did Edward Cullen drive you home?"

"Because he's my friend." I cross my arms over my chest, mirroring Dad's defensive stance.

"You spent the night at _his_ house? Not only is he a boy, which you failed to mention on the phone, but he's a boy I told you I didn't want you hanging around with."

"Does it matter whose house it was? There was a snowstorm! Would you really have wanted me driving around in weather like that?"

"You shouldn't have been at his house in the first place, Bella, and you definitely shouldn't have been there overnight."

"His parents were there, and his sisters... his whole family was in the house, and it was Esme's idea. I spent the night in the guestroom; it's not like we were shacking up." Did I really just say _shacking up_ to my dad?

"What exactly is your relationship with that boy?"

"We're friends."

"That's not what I've been hearing." I wince. I knew I should've told him about those stupid rumours.

"That's just gossip."

"I don't want you spending time with him. He's a bad seed."

"He's a _bad seed_? What does that even mean? He's not a tree."

"It means he's bad all the way through, right from when he was a seed... even before the egg."

"Okay, that's... eww, and it doesn't even make sense. Also he's not _bad_, he's just a little... unusual."

"Bella..."

"I'm going to go take a shower," I announce abruptly, cutting him off.

I hear him sigh loudly behind me as I leave the room to head upstairs.

If I'm being honest with myself, which I guess I probably should be, then I have to admit I'm being a bit of a hypocrite. I felt roughly the same way as Dad and Jake do about Edward before I got to know him. He doesn't really come off well from the outside. I thought Jess was nuts... well I still do, but at least now I know there's some kind of... you know... like a... legitimate basis for her thing for him.

So I suppose it's understandable, and yet I keep getting defensive about him. And why is that? Because... I like him. I have a crush on Edward.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

00000

Trying to do my bio homework when I'm some weird combination of aggravated, frustrated, confused, and unsure is clearly not a good idea. I've been staring at these questions for the last twenty minutes, and I haven't written down a single word. Maybe I should put it off until tomorrow... but then what will I do now? I can't just sit here thinking. It'll drive me insane.

I look around my room, trying to think of something else I can do, something slightly more engaging than schoolwork. After finding nothing in here I start considering whether or not I would be able to go downstairs to watch TV while still avoiding Dad, but then I hear the footsteps on the stairs.

There's a hesitant knock, and then the door opens a bit, and Dad takes a small step into my room.

"Umm... your mother wants to talk to you," he mutters.

"You called Mom?" I ask incredulously.

"Yes, and now she's waiting for you to come to the phone, so..."

"Fine," I sigh, getting up from the bed to walk past him into the hall. He walks down the stairs behind me, disappearing into the living room as I head into the kitchen.

"Hello?"

"_Hello my darling,"_ she greets happily.

"_My darling_? Laying it on a bit thick, don't you think?"

"_For a girl who just spent the night at a cute boy's house you don't seem very happy, Bella."_

"You didn't tell Dad that, did you?" I ask, my voice rising in panic.

"_What, that you think Edward's cute? Of course not. I don't want to give the man a heart attack."_

"So, what did you say?"

"_I told him that under no circumstances is he to forbid you from seeing him. My mother did that to me once... I ended up losing my virginity in the backseat of his car less than a week later."_

"I really didn't need to know that, Mom."

"_What I'm trying to say is you've always been a fairly mature young woman, but I know that deep down you are my daughter, and I don't want your father's overprotective ways pushing you into a rebellious streak. You could end up doing something you regret, like choosing an uncomfortable venue for an already uncomfortable experience."_

"I promise not to lose my virginity in the backseat of a car. Are you happy?" I really hope Dad isn't eavesdropping right now.

"_I was trying to make a more general point, but I'm glad to hear it."_

"Alright, is that everything?"

"_Umm... try to keep in mind that he's just trying to look out for you... don't do anything too rash... and I still want a picture."_

"I agree with the first two, but the picture's not going to happen."

"_What about talking to him? Can that be arranged?"_

"Also not going to happen."

"_You could just give me his number, and I'll say I found it on my own, or I could say I misdialed."_

"You're not going to say anything, because you're not going to talk to him."

"_We can discuss that later. Now tell me what you did all night at that boy's house."_

00000

So now that I've got conflicts with Jess, Jake, and Dad going, I figure it probably wouldn't hurt to resolve at least one. I think Jess will probably be the easiest. I don't have to try to convince her that she's wrong and that Edward is actually a good person; I just have to reason with her. I'm hoping that'll work, even though this doesn't seem to be a subject Jess approaches with much reason.

I try to ignore the strange look Jess's mom gives me when she answers the door, but I'm pretty sure I'm not imagining it. She lets me in without asking Jess though, so I guess her curiosity is useful. I doubt Jess would invite me in.

I creep up the stairs like a spy sneaking around in enemy territory, and make my way to her partially open door.

Should I knock? She's got to know I'm here at some point if I'm going to talk to her.

Taking a deep breath, I knock lightly, causing the door to swing open a bit more. She does not look happy to see me when she turns in her desk chair to face the doorway.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to talk to you," I respond, in a tone that hopefully sounds confident and forceful.

"I'm not talking to you."

"But you _are_ talking to me."

"Well... yeah... but I'm not..." She huffs in frustration and turns away.

"Look, I walked all the way here because my car isn't running, so we're going to talk about this."

She doesn't say anything, so I take a few steps into the room and shut the door behind me.

"We're not dating. He's just a friend." No response. "He's not allowed to have friends?" Still nothing. This is getting kind of frustrating. "And even if we were dating... you barely even talk to him. He's not allowed to have a girlfriend because you couldn't work up the nerve to start a conversation?"

Her shoulders stiffen further. Shit. This isn't where I wanted this conversation to go.

"I'm sorry, Jess. I didn't mean..."

"You know I always felt kind of stupid," she starts, cutting off my apology, "because I thought I had a thing for someone who doesn't even talk to people. Turns out I was wrong. I'm still stupid, but he does talk to people, to girls, just not to me."

"You're not stupid."

"Why you and not me? What's wrong with me?" she asks quietly, still facing away from me.

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"And yet... I spent years trying to get his attention, and nothing, and then you show up and suddenly..."

"I didn't search him out. I didn't go after him. We're just friends."

"He doesn't look at you like a friend," Jess states, slowly turning to face me.

Now I'm the one who doesn't respond. Instead I stare at her dumbly for a moment before I shake my head to clear it. I don't think Jess is the best source for relationship information... well not relationships, but... things that are somewhat related to... relationships.

She gives me a sad smile and sighs. "I'm sorry about this whole thing. I was more mad at myself than I was at you. It's just... I've liked him for _so_ long, and I couldn't... I know it's partly my fault. I never worked up the nerve to actually talk to him. He never even noticed me, and it just seems like you got his attention so easily."

"Yeah, breaking my arm was a piece of cake."

She looks down at the ground, hands fidgeting in her lap. "I really am sorry, Bella." This is going a lot better than I thought it would.

"It's alright."

"You're really not mad?"

"I didn't want things to happen like this."

"So... we're friends?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

There's a moment of silence with neither of us really sure where to go from there.

"Umm... would it be possible for you to drive me home? It's a lot farther from my house to yours than I thought it was, and it's really cold outside."

"Sure... do you want to watch a movie or something first?" she asks tentatively.

"Alright."

"We should watch _Dogma_. It's my happy movie, but Angela never wants to watch it with me. She really hates Kevin Smith."

"Really doesn't seem like her kind of thing."

"No kidding."

00000

It isn't until Jess drops me off at home that I realize Steve isn't in the driveway. I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think he was there when Edward dropped me off earlier. Where the fuck is Steve?

Oh fuck. What if Dad junked him? I never even got to say goodbye.

I hurry up the steps and through the door, calling "Dad!" over and over in a somewhat hysterical tone. Do not freak out over a truck. Do _not_ freak out over a truck.

"Bells?" he answers with panic tingeing his voice as he pops his head out of the living room.

"Where's my truck?"

"What?"

"My truck! What did you do with my truck!?"

"I had it towed up to La Push."

"La Push?"

"Yeah, Jacob said he'd take a look at it."

"Jake's fixing it?" The same Jake who's mad at me?

"Mm-hmm. He'll call when it's done, but he wasn't sure how long that would be when I talked to him yesterday. He says he might need to order some parts." Steve and I just can't catch a break. We're like star-crossed lovers... but obviously not lovers, because that would be really fucking weird. We're star-crossed... something platonic and not creepy. Well, that's pithy.

"But it can be fixed?"

"He seemed to think so, yeah. That beast'll probably keep chugging on for eternity... with some help of course."

"Okay, great."

"Is that what you were freaking out about?"

"I wasn't freaking out," I reply defensively.

"I thought someone was chasing you," he snickers.

"It wasn't that bad."

"You're lucky I didn't have my gun with me. I don't think your mother would take kindly to learning that I aimed a gun at you, even if it was intended for your nonexistent attacker."

"Well now you're just being hyperbolous."

Dad's forehead creases, and he asks, "Is that a word?"

"Yes." ... possibly.

"Hyperbolous?" he repeats sceptically. "That doesn't sound right."

"It sounds better than hyperbolic," I mutter under my breath.

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm going to go get some stuff done for school."

"Alright."

I'm partway up the stairs before he speaks again. "Bella? I just want you to know that I trust you... I _want_ to trust you... I'm trying to. If you say he's just a friend... I believe you."

"Really?"

"Yes. Although I'm not particularly thrilled that you're spending time with him, whatever he is to you."

"Dad..."

He holds his hands up for me to stop, and continues. "But you're an adult... almost an adult, and I trust your judgment. I trust that you can make these decisions on your own. I just wish you'd told me everything instead of keeping things from me."

"I'm sorry. Next time I'll tell you right away."

"Next time what?"

"What?"

"What is it exactly you think you'll have to tell me?" He looks very weary all of a sudden.

"Umm... I don't know... whatever there is to say."

"Right. You know I'm just worried about you, right? I don't want you to get hurt."

"I know, Dad. Thanks for taking care of my truck."

"Sure thing. I was thinking I would make dinner tonight."

"Umm... do you think that's a good idea?"

"I can cook fish."

"Well... if you really want to..."

"Great. I'll call you when it's ready."

"Okay."

I slowly make my way up to my room, dropping my school stuff onto the floor so I can stretch out on my bed and try to figure out just how long I've had a crush on Edward. How can you have a crush on someone and not even know?

00000

Twice. Why would this happen twice? Not just twice, but two days in a row. I must have seriously shitty karma.

"I know you're awake," the evil harpy cheerfully calls from my bedroom rocking chair.

"Why are you doing this to me, Alice?" I moan.

"Don't be so dramatic. I waited until after nine this time."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm taking you for breakfast."

"How did you get in?"

"Your dad let me in."

"Why would he do that?"

"I am a very likable person... in case you haven't noticed," she says with a bubbly laugh.

"I beg to differ."

"I'm not going to hold that against you, because clearly you're not fully awake yet. I'm a big person like that."

I can't help but snort.

"Metaphorically speaking. You know what I mean. Are you getting up or not?"

"No."

"I'll buy you breakfast."

"I don't want food. I want sleep."

"It's after nine."

"It's the weekend."

"You're harder to wake up than Edward... you know, before he started sleeping naked." She sighs when I don't respond. "That worked so much better yesterday."

"You're evil, and you need to learn how to ask for things."

"If you ask, you're giving the person the chance to say _no._"

"Yeah, that's kind of the point."

"But that's just ridiculous."

I smash my face into the pillow, muffling my yell of frustration.

"Go downstairs," I mutter in defeat.

"Why?"

"Because I'm going to get up, and then I'm going to get dressed, and I want you to be downstairs."

"So you're coming?"

"Downstairs, Alice."

"Alright. I'm going. I'm going."

I shut my eyes for a moment, just one moment longer, as I listen to her soft footsteps on the stairs.

"You're out of bed, right? I don't want to have to come back up there!" Alice calls from downstairs.

I groan loudly and roll out of bed, before padding across the floor towards my dresser. I should've killed her when I had the chance.

00000

"So why aren't you eating breakfast at home right now?" I ask.

"Esme and Carlisle are sleeping late today and left us to fend for ourselves. No one else was up yet, so I decided to take the easy way out and pay someone else to make me food."

"And you decided to drag me along with you."

"Yeah. I've been staying away for... well I don't know how long it's been, but now that Edward's finally gotten you over to the house I figure you're fair game."

"What are you talking about?"

"They said I had to stay away. They claim I have a tendency to come on a little strong, but they're clearly full of shit," she says playfully.

"Who're _they_?"

"Edward... and then Carlisle and Esme, and then Jasper sided with them, the traitor. They were afraid I was going to scare you away with my intense bubbly-ness before Edward got the balls to make a move."

"So there was... like a _plan_?" That's a little creepy.

"It's not like it was some major conspiracy or something. It's just that... Edward really likes you, and they didn't want that screwed up... by me, which is a little insulting if I'm being honest, but I'm over it," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Oh! Esme said you're even more adorable than she was led to believe."

"Umm... that's sweet. Led to believe by whom?" Has Edward been talking about me? Oh God, did he tell Esme about the necrophilia jokes? He would've blamed me for them.

"Carlisle. We tried getting info out of Edward, but... he's Edward. Actually he's become even more broody and secretive since he met you, which is annoying."

"Maybe that's why Emmett wanted to punch him," I mutter.

"Emmett always wants to punch people. He has way too much testosterone than can be healthy in one person."

"So, Carlisle called me adorable?" Trying to picture Carlisle saying _adorable_ makes me laugh.

"No, Esme inferred that you're adorable from what he told us. I don't think I've ever heard Carlisle say _adorable_. He did say _cute as a button_ once, but that was about a newborn baby. I don't really think that counts - people say all kinds of uncharacteristic things around babies. Rosalie actually seems like a nice person around babies; it's weird. You should come over when we're done here. You can stay for dinner. It's Edward's night to cook."

"I'm not sure how I feel about telling my dad I'm going over to Edward's again so soon."

"Tell him you're coming to my house."

"Alice, he knows it's the same house."

"Yeah, but it's like saying someone passed away instead of they died. It means the same thing, but it's slightly easier to hear."

"You think I should use a euphemism?" I ask with a laugh.

"Yes."

We sit quietly for a few moments while the waitress puts down our plates. Between bites of French toast I ask, "Have you ever intimidated anyone with your intense bubbly-ness?"

"I scared the shit out of Jasper the first time I met him. In retrospect the hug may have been a bit much."

"Do you always hug people you just met?"

"If the urge hits."

"Did you just wink at me?" Alice totally winked at me.

"Yeah, sorry. I've been spending way too much time with Em lately. I swear I wasn't hitting on you... well I didn't mean to anyway."

"I don't know, Alice. That's two days in a row now that you've snuck into my room, and yesterday you got in my bed."

"Don't tell Emmett that. Neither of us will ever hear the end of it. Don't tell Edward either; he'd probably get jealous." And then she winks at me again.

00000

"Come on in," Alice says, waving me inside with a flourish. "I want to grab some cookies or something from the kitchen, and then we can go up to my room, before a certain someone realizes you're here and steals you away."

"We just ate."

"What does that have to do with anything?

"How can you be hungry again?"

"Whether or not I want cookies has nothing to do with whether or not I'm hungry," she says, leading me down the hall. She says something after that, but I get distracted by the sound of someone playing the piano somewhere to the left.

I can hear her opening and closing cabinet doors, muttering something about Emmett hiding all the good food, as I make my way closer to the music. I end up in front of a partly opened door watching Edward sitting next to Esme and playing the piano. I didn't know he could play the piano, and he's good, not that I know much about music.

His fingers fumble on the keys, and he grunts in frustration.

"I thought I told you to lay off the alcohol before piano lessons," she mockingly scolds.

"I think it's mostly the crack actually, not good for motor function you know," he says, running his fingers through his hair.

"You should really cut down on that too."

"I know," he chuckles, before he looks up and sees me. "Hey," he says, sounding surprised, which he probably is considering he didn't know I was in the house let alone watching him... that sounds a bit creepy.

"Hi." His look of surprise turns into a brilliant smile.

"Later?" he says, turning to Esme.

"Sure. It's nice to see you again, Bella."

"You too," I reply, trying to ignore my increasing heart rate as he walks towards me. Esme starts playing the piano as we move out into the hallway.

"She's really good."

"Well, she's been playing basically her whole life. I only started a little while ago."

"You're good too," I mutter, too shy to raise my voice to its normal level. What the fuck is wrong with me?

"Thanks," he says with an embarrassed laugh. "Did Alice drag you out of bed again?"

"Yeah."

"I was afraid of that. I knew something was wrong when she wasn't here when I woke up."

"It was fine. She bought me breakfast."

"Food makes everything better."

"Like pie."

"Exactly, pie is the ultimate... making things better food."

"I think that could apply to anything with lots of sugar, really."

"Well this didn't work out well at all," Alice says, holding a bag of cookies in the kitchen doorway.

"What?" Edward asks.

"You weren't supposed to know she was here," Alice huffs.

"Well then you shouldn't have brought her here," he smirks, grabbing my hand to pull me away. Alice scowls at him, and I shrug.

"You can't keep her to yourself all day!" she calls as we round the corner.

"Whatever you say, Alice!" he yells back.

"Well, that was kind of rude," I mutter, staring down at his hand wrapped around mine.

"I know, but luckily I don't really care, so it isn't a problem."

"Well I suppose there's something to be said for honesty."

He laughs and squeezes my hand in response, continuing to lead me towards the stairs.

00000

"You're such a jerk," I huff, leaning back against the base of his bed. He's sitting on the floor across from me, propped up against the wall, laughing his ass off.

"What? It's funny," he wheezes.

"No, it isn't. My mother is a crazy person. That's not funny at all."

"If she wants a picture that badly she can have one. I really don't care."

"No. It'll only encourage her. The next thing you know she'll track down your number so she can call you, and it'll just go downhill from there."

"I think I'd like to talk to her, actually."

"I'm sorry, what? Are you insane?"

"I'm just thinking about all the wonderfully embarrassing things I could learn about you," Edward smirks.

"Like you don't know enough already," I scoff.

"My cardigan thing completely outranks your propensity for anthropomorphizing rusty hunks of metal." I scowl at him for his description of Steve, but he just smiles in response.

"Are you forgetting about the cactus thing?"

"That's a family thing your mother started. It's completely different."

"You told me the cardigan thing of your own volition. You can't go behind my back and get info from my mom to make it even. If anything that would make _you_ owe _me_."

He shakes his head and says, "Your logic is flawed."

"Your... brain is flawed," I weakly retort.

"Oh, nice," he says with mock indignation... I hope it's mock indignation.

"What? Photosensitivity isn't a brain thing... is it? No, it wouldn't be... is it?"

"No," he laughs.

"And I repeat, you're a jerk. That's a cheap trick, playing the photosensitivity card."

"I didn't say anything about it," he says, holding his hand up in front of him. "If that's what you inferred... well, maybe that's what you're really thinking." He's so lucky I don't have anything within reach to throw at him.

"_Such_ a jerk. I'm going to go hang out with Alice if you don't start being nice to me."

"Blackmail, now that's a cheap trick."

"I guess that makes us even," I say.

"So, what did she say when you denied her a picture?"

"Oh no. You can amuse yourself from now on."

"Oh, come on," he goads.

"No. Tell me something about your mother." I don't think about the fact that this may be a tender subject, that I've never heard him mention either of his parents, until he stiffens at my request.

"You mean Esme?" His voice has gone... weird, raspy, and a little unsteady.

"No." It's practically a whisper, but I'm sure he hears me, because his posture gets even more rigid. Shit. "I'm sorry. That was stupid, never mind. Tell me something about Esme."

He stays silent and still for a few moments, before he lets out a deep sigh and slumps against the wall.

"It's fine. I just... I don't have anything to say about my mother. I was raised by my grandma." His blank expression shifts into a small, nostalgic smile. "She used to collect those Royal Dalton figurines, you know, those women in the big, fancy dresses with names like Penelope and Noelle. She used to make up stories for all of them; romance novel kind of stories, but without turgid flesh and heaving bosoms, or whatever the hell they put in those books. At least that stuff wasn't in the ones she told me. Maybe she had her own versions. Anyway it was stuff like, Penelope was married young to an older wealthy man, but it was a loveless marriage, and eventually she ran away with the local blacksmith," he laughs quietly. "I mean they were longer, but that was the idea."

"What happened to your parents?" I ask quietly, carefully. His face goes blank again. Why do I keep poking at this?

"My mother died when I was nine."

"I'm sorry."

He lets out a humourless laugh and says, "I didn't know until I was twelve. I wasn't very surprised." He pauses for a few moments, and I decide to let it drop. I'm not going to poke again. "I found out when my grandma died and they tried to find a relative to put me with. I guess they thought I already knew, because they just said it in passing, something like _since your mother's already gone_. I don't know what happened though; I didn't ask. Anyway, I got put into the system, and almost immediately they said I was being adopted. Esme came to Chicago to pick me up, and I was a Cullen."

"That's unusual, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but we're special needs kids. Not everyone is equipped to take us in, so they make exceptions, I guess. Plus I think Carlisle's family is pretty influential. There may have been some less-than-legal elements to it as well."

I pause as I take this all in, and try to figure out how to phrase my question.

"Why... I mean... how did...?" I stumble and sputter.

"Why didn't I know my mother had died for three years? Why was I raised by my grandmother?_"_

"I guess... I mean, if you want to tell me. You don't have to... obviously."

"My mother didn't want me," he states. I look up at him quickly. He's looking over at the side of the room, but his profile looks pensive. "My grandma always said my mother wasn't in a position to care for me, but I don't think she wanted to. Whenever she used to talk about her it was always stuff like, _I used to bring your mother to this park when she was little_, or _your mother fell off her bicycle on this corner when your grandfather was teaching her how to ride_. Always stuff about when she was a kid, never teenaged or adult memories, so I don't really know... what she was like. I know that she ran away more than once. I know she dropped out of school and she had... problems. I know I was an accident, which doesn't really bother me. I mean, just because it wasn't intentional doesn't mean I wasn't wanted. I was, just not by her. The only reason I was born was because my grandma found out she was pregnant, and she told her if she came to live with her and took care of herself until I was born she'd give her part of her inheritance up front. My grandfather had already died at this point. It wasn't a lot of money, but it was money, and I guess that was good enough. So, she stayed, I was born, and then she left." Lovely.

"But your grandmother loved you?"

"Very much. She was my mother, basically, and a good one. When I was little I never understood the point of mothers and fathers. I figured if you've got a grandmother what do you need them for? I think it's probably for the best that I ended up with my grandma. Even if my mother had tried I'm not sure she would've been able to take care of me properly, even if I hadn't been photosensitive."

I feel kind of silly now. His story makes my mom look like... that woman in _The Brady Bunch_.

"Esme seems like a good mom."

"Esme is awesome, but she's more like the big sister put in charge of the house, instead of the mother." He's smiling again, so I don't feel quite so bad about dragging all this up, but still...

"I'm sorry for bringing this up."

He smiles at me softly and says, "Don't worry about it. It's actually kind of... good to talk about once in a while."

"So you don't hate me now or anything?"

"I can probably forgive you... maybe."

"_Maybe_?"

"It probably wouldn't hurt if you helped me with dinner tonight."

I sigh dramatically and respond, "I guess if that's what I need to do..."

"You're such a good sport." From the tone of his voice I get the distinct impression that he'd pat me on the head if I were within reach right now.

"You're still a jerk."

"I can live with that. Come on," he says, pushing himself up from the floor and then offering me a hand. Before letting go I lightly squeeze his hand. He returns the gesture with a small smile, and then we both let go.

We're quiet as we make our way to the kitchen. Everything still feels normal, comfortable, as long as we're in the midst of a conversation; It's the between moments that are the problem. When I don't have anything to say it's like I don't know what to do, how to act around him anymore. I had a mild crush on a guy in Phoenix once, but he was a year ahead of me and had a serious girlfriend, so I never had to contemplate whether or not to do anything about it. Actually I barely knew him, so talking to him wasn't an issue either. I am in so far over my head right now.

Maybe it's just a friend thing. I've never had a really close friend before, so maybe I'm just confusing friendship feelings with crush feelings. That would definitely make things much simpler.

"Alright," Edward says as he leans down to look into the fridge. He roots around for a few moments before muttering, "Umm... shit," and standing up with a troubled look on his face.

"What?"

"Well... there doesn't seem to be any ground beef. I guess I'll have to trade off with someone." He sighs, tapping his fingers against the top of the fridge door. "It's pretty last minute, but Jasper might be able to come up with something."

"Are you serious?"

"What? Jasper's a good cook."

"I'm not talking about Jasper, just... there's no beef, so you can't make dinner?"

"You can't make hamburgers without beef... have you ever wondered why they're called _ham_burgers when it's beef and not pork?"

"What?"

"Well what does ham have to do with beef? That doesn't make any sense."

"Okay, I'm still on the _you making dinner _conversation, so let's go back to that. You can't make something else?"

"No. You really don't want me to do that."

"Come on, you can't be that bad."

"I am. I really, _really_ am."

"I'll help."

"How about you cook, and _I'll_ help."

"It's _your_ night."

"Friends help friends, Isabella. And I believe you did say you'd teach me to cook at some point." From his smug smile it's pretty clear he knows he's won. He can smirk at me all he wants, but he's doing most of the work.

00000

"I'm gonna be honest; I'm a little in love with you right now, Bella," Emmett says, pushing his chair back from the table and patting his stomach.

"Thanks, Emmett," I laugh.

"Although I do think it's unfair that Edward pulled in a ringer to do _his_ night."

"I helped," Edward replies defensively. "Didn't I?" He turns and looks at me expectantly.

"Yes, you were very helpful," I answer, attempting to stifle the laugh that's trying to get out. It turns out Edward is just as bad in the kitchen as he said, and I ended up having to do most of the work, but I did get to laugh at him a lot, so it still worked out nicely. He could barely cook the pasta for the macaroni and cheese.

"I always have to do everything on my own," Emmett grumbles.

"So, you would've preferred we had burgers _again_, so that he could've made them on his own?" Rosalie asks.

"No, I'm just saying I should get help too," Emmett grumbles under his breath.

"Somehow I don't think cooking with you would hold the same appeal for her, Emmett," Alice smirks.

Edward simultaneously scowls and blushes. It sort of makes him look like a little boy about to have a temper tantrum, and it's really very cute. Okay, definitely not friendship feelings.

00000

"Dad?" I call out, walking through the front door into the dark front hall.

"In here." I follow his voice into the living room and find him at the window again. "That was him again, wasn't it?"

"Yep."

"I thought you were spending the day with Alice."

"They live in the same house."

"I know they live in the same house, Bella. That doesn't make them the same person." Alice's euphemism idea doesn't seem to be working out so well.

"I spent some time with Alice." ...During and after dinner.

"But you spent some time with Edward too, right?"

"Well... they live in the same house!"

"You already said that."

"I'm using repetition to emphasize my point."

"I'm aware of your point. Let's move onto something new. Did you actually go over to spend time with Alice or were you just using that as a cover story?"

"I spent time with Alice. She's already talking about having me over for a sleepover next weekend."

"Not with Edward in the house," he says immediately.

"I'd be in the guestroom, Dad... or maybe Alice's room. We didn't really talk about that."

"No."

"What do you think is going to happen?"

"It doesn't matter, because it's not going to happen, because you're not spending the night again."

"Nothing would happen!"

"He's a teenage boy; they can't be trusted." He sighs quietly and mutters, "Why couldn't you be ugly?"

"What?"

"I'd still love you, and I wouldn't have to worry about all these hormonal teenage boys following you around like lovesick puppies."

"What are you talking about?"

"Newton came by around noon looking for you, and then again around two, and then again around four. I answered the door carrying my gun the last time. He hasn't come back yet, oddly enough."

"You threatened Mike with a gun?" I ask incredulously.

"I did not _threaten_ him. I would never threaten anyone with a gun unless I absolutely had to. I take my job and the responsibility that comes with owning a gun very seriously. I merely held it, knowing he would see it."

"It's too bad you went into law enforcement; you would've made a great evil genius."

"Well, I still don't have any retirement plans, so I wouldn't count it out yet," he says, moving over to his easy chair.

On one hand I'm kind of worried that Mike may be scarred for life; on the other hand I really wish I'd seen his face when he realized Dad was holding a gun. I'm also really glad Edward wasn't the one that came to the door this morning. I might've had to use the Playboy Bunny story after all.

**A/N: **Addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads are on my profile page.


	19. Invitations and Bathroom Visitations

**A/N:**Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net), and Denise.

**Invitations and Bathroom Visitations**

This morning I woke up forty minutes before my alarm went off. This has never happened to me before. I've been woken up by someone or something many times, but it's never just... happened. It's unprecedented. I wish it had stayed un-precedented, because now that it is precedented it could happen again and again and again. There's a _precedent_, damn it.

It is, of course, a Monday. The fucker.

But I can't just blame Monday. It wouldn't be fair to the non-corporeal entity that is this particular day of the week, malicious as it is. I'm 98.9% sure Alice has fucked up my inner clock. It is now so traumatized that it is unable to properly perform its function, and what is an inner clock that can't keep time? It's useless. Alice has made my inner clock obsolete. The fucker.

And that's not even the worst part. After I woke up, I couldn't get back to sleep.

This gave me a lot of time to think, and I've come to a somewhat troubling conclusion. Despite her pushy fucking-up-my-inner-clock behaviour, her overly emotive face, her maniacal hand talking, and her unsettlingly huge, and I mean _huge_, eyes, I actually like Alice, a lot. I mean I kind of want to lure her out into the woods and take her out with a shovel, but I like her.

She reminds me of my mother, not that I want or have ever wanted to kill my mother with a shovel. What I mean is, they are the only two people I have ever met that can get _so_ worked up over... well anything. It's like, to them, everything is wonderfully exciting, which means that when something happens that most people consider wonderfully exciting... well its interesting.

When my mother brought her wedding dress home she twirled around the house with it, singing "I Feel Pretty" for a good half hour. That song gets annoying very, very fast.

A low hissing noise draws my attention to the kitchen doorway, and I nearly choke on my cereal when I see Edward furtively sticking his head around the doorframe. I cough a few times, my face heating as my heart rate picks up.

"Edward?"

"Are you alone?" he whispers.

"Yeah. What the hell are you doing?"

He stands up and clears his throat before saying, "I thought the Chief might still be here."

"Isn't his car gone?" I ask, attempting to stifle my laugh as he straightens out his clothes.

"Yeah..."

"So..."

"I was worried it might be a trap... or something," he mutters, placing a tall travel mug on the kitchen table before dropping into the chair across from me.

"A _trap_? Really?"

"Okay well not a _trap_, but I didn't want to assume he wasn't here and then walk in and find that he was."

"Are you afraid of my dad?"

"Your dad owns a gun. That's a legitimate fear."

"You're just lucky you didn't come to the door yesterday."

"Why?"

I open my mouth to tell him about Dad scaring the shit out of Mike with his strategically held gun, but then I realize if I tell him he may never come within a forty foot radius of Dad or the house or maybe even me again.

"Never mind."

He looks at me suspiciously for a moment, before he shrugs and leans back in the chair.

"Oh, this is for you," he says, moving the travel mug closer to me.

"What is it?"

"Coffee from my house."

More than a little random. "Oh... um, thanks?"

"It's from Esme. She already put cream and sugar in it, I don't know if that's how you like it or not. As far as she's concerned coffee is pretty much the best thing ever made. I think it's supposed to be a gift for dinner last night... maybe. I'm not sure. It was a very odd conversation. She's a little scattered in the morning."

"She made you drive over here early to give me coffee?"

"Well... no. I was already coming over early, to avoid Alice, and Esme gave it to me to give to you before I left."

"Why are you avoiding Alice?" I ask, wrapping my hands around the warm metal of the travel mug.

"She's not super happy with me at the moment. Apparently I'm a selfish asshat."

"Oh." What the hell am I supposed to say to that?

"Yeah. Plus I was pretty sure she was going to attempt to hijack the ride to school, so... many reasons to avoid her."

"I guess she's harder to keep away now that she's no longer under orders, huh?" I ask with a smirk.

Edward's face freezes, and then he lets out an abrupt, embarrassed laugh. "I'm so glad you two are getting along," he mutters.

"I bet you are. Do you want some cereal or something?"

"No thanks, Esme gave me some pastry thing while I was leaving."

I nod and take a sip of the coffee. I make what I feel is a very valiant attempt to hide my grimace as the hot, bitter liquid hits my tongue. Unfortunately he's watching me way too closely for my poorly disguised disgust to go unnoticed and he laughs at my expression.

"You don't like coffee do you?"

I shrug noncommittally, spinning the mug in circles on the table. I feel like maybe I should drink it anyway, it is a gift. It's a slightly strange gift, but a gift none the less.

"I guess I should've given you the pastry instead."

"No it's fine I just... don't usually drink coffee." I take another sip and swallow it quickly. Maybe I should just chug the whole thing, and then I won't really have to taste it.

"You don't have to drink it you know."

"I'm going to drink it," I reply stubbornly.

"Why?" he asks with a laugh.

"Because I am." I glare at the mug, trying to psych myself up for another drink. My mouth already tastes nasty, and I'm pretty sure the caffeine is going to make me jittery.

He sighs and shakes his head, before quickly snatching the mug away from me.

"Hey," I exclaim, glaring as he laughs at me.

"You don't even like it."

"It's still mine."

"Don't be such a baby. I'll buy you a drink at lunch." And then he starts to drink _my_ coffee, my nasty, bitter coffee. Why do I care? It's the principle of the thing I guess.

"Well I hope you realize you have cooties now."

Edward laughs, possibly snorting some coffee out of his nose, but I can't tell for sure with his hand in front of his face. He grabs a handful of napkins off the table and wipes off his face before he says, "_Cooties_, really?" His voice is a little hoarse, probably from choking on his stolen coffee, and he ends up coughing wetly. Serves him right,

"I'll have you know cooties are one of the most feared transmittable diseases out there."

"Feared by eight-year-olds."

"Cooties are like Polio... except you can't get it by swimming in contaminated water."

Edward gives me a look that clearly says _what the fuck are you talking about?_ I shrug in response, because I really don't know where that came from.

"Okay, well... let's just pretend that was clever..." he starts condescendingly.

"Oh shut up."

"... and I'll counter with, is there a cure?"

"No," I respond petulantly, crossing my arms across my chest.

"Oh, come on."

"No, I'm afraid there's nothing to be done."

"You're going to kill me off over _coffee_? You don't even like coffee."

"I suppose I could settle for permanent damage of some kind."

"What, like I lose an arm?"

"You don't _lose_ it, you just... lose the use of it. You don't really _need_ both arms you know."

He stares at me calculatingly for a moment, before leaning forward. "What about if I buy you lunch? Do you think I might escape with no permanent damage?"

"Are you seriously trying to bribe me with cafeteria food?"

His initial response is a smirk, but then all of a sudden he looks very serious. Did I offend him? There's no way he thought cafeteria food was a good offer. Maybe he has some secret love of greasy mediocre food I wasn't aware of.

"Well then maybe I should take you to dinner."

I blink. I'm pretty sure it's the only part of me that moves.

What does he mean by that? Does he mean...? No... but... why is he looking at me like that? Does he _like_ me? I've barely just figured out how _I_ feel, and it's way too early in the morning to try to tackle what he may be feeling. Maybe I'm over thinking this. Why is he being so vague and... quiet? I made a nonsensical cooties-are-polio comment. Does he not understand that my brain is not functioning right now? Maybe I should say something.

"Uhh..." Jesus fucking Christ.

His eyes get really big and panicked and then he says something like, "And Alice could come too, cause I can only avoid her for so long, and if you can't beat them invite them along or whatever the hell that saying is," but it comes out really fast so I'm not exactly sure.

In response I squeak something vaguely resembling, "yeah," and then I finish my soggy cereal and he finishes his appropriated coffee in silence - heavy, awkward silence.

What the fuck just happened?

00000

The ride to school was silent, aside from a moment approximately halfway through the drive when I announced, loudly and without preamble, that I kind of want to kill his sister. I'm not entirely sure why I felt the need to almost yell this at him, but he seemed somewhat alarmed, although I'm not sure if that was because I startled him while he was driving or if it was because I admitted to murderous thoughts. He didn't respond and my mind stayed a tumultuous mess with no words to offer for the rest of the trip.

The goodbyes in the hallway before first period were filled with a lot of hair mussing, and lip biting, and awkward fidgeting, and I don't think either of us actually _said_ goodbye. I know I left with an unsettling feeling of incompleteness, like I'd just walked away in the middle of a conversation, although neither of us had actually been _saying_ anything.

At the moment I'm extremely tempted to bang my head against my locker door, but somehow I don't think giving myself a headache will make me feel better. Instead I violently shove my backpack into my locker. It's not nearly as satisfying as I'd hoped it would be, so I glare at it a little bit for good measure.

A throat clears beside me, before I hear, "Hey, Bella."

"Hey, Mike," I mutter distractedly.

"So, umm...Bella?"

"Yeah." I shake my head a bit, pulling my unfocused gaze away from my textbooks to turn to him with a half-hearted smile. I slam my locker shut, and he jerks at the loud noise. I'm startling people all over the place today.

"How was your weekend?" he asks.

"It was fine. I hear you came by the house yesterday."

"Oh... yeah, well... your dad has a gun."

"He's the chief of police."

"Right, I know, but I've never actually seen him... hold it."

"I'm sorry if he scared you," I say with a slight smile.

"What? No, I wasn't... it just took me off guard." It's kind of hard to believe him when he's starting to get sweaty and nervous from the memory alone.

"Right, well, I'm sorry anyway."

He makes a motion of dismissal and laughs anxiously.

"So, did you want something, Mike?"

"I wanted to catch you before you went to the cafeteria. I wasn't sure where you were going to sit today. Jess says you guys made up," he says hopefully.

"We did. I really haven't thought about seating arrangements though. Were you coming over for something specific yesterday?"

"Oh, no... well, yes... umm, yes?" His face is starting to turn red and his uncertainty is making me a little apprehensive.

"So, what was it?"

"I was wondering... I mean... do you have a date for the dance, or...?"

"What dance?" I interrupt impatiently. I don't like where this could be heading.

"The Valentine's dance."

"But it's January."

"Well... yeah."

"Valentine's is in February," I mutter dumbly.

"Which comes after January."

"But don't you think it's a bit early to be talking about a dance that's happening next month?"

"The beginning half of next month, and... well... it's the kind of thing you need to do early, so that... you know... someone else hasn't asked that person first... like in Harry Potter."

"What?"

"Haven't you seen that? He goes to ask the girl, but that Cedar guy has gotten there first, and then he can't go with the girl he wanted to."

"Did you seriously just reference Harry Potter while asking me out?"

"Yeah, my sister was watching it on Saturday and... I don't know. Just forget about that. Do you want to go to the Valentine's dance with me?"

"I thought we agreed to be _friends_." Did I not nip this in the bud after the fiasco that was Port Angeles?

"Friends can date."

"Umm..."

"What's up guys?" Tyler greets, coming to stand beside us.

"We were just talking," Mike says. He's glaring pretty damn fiercely at Tyler. Tyler doesn't seem to notice.

"Oh, yeah? About what?"

"It's kind of a private conversation, so..."

"What do you mean _private_? What do you have to discuss that's _private_?" Tyler asks, sharply interrupting Mike. Now Tyler's glaring at Mike. Monday really fucking hates me.

Mike straightens himself up, puffing out his chest a bit, and says, "If you must know we were talking about the dance."

"What dance?"

"Valentine's dance," I mutter.

"That's in _February_!"

"I know that," Mike replies with a frustrated huff.

"Have you answered yet?" he asks quickly, stepping between Mike and I.

"Umm... no." I take a step backwards.

"Go to the dance with me."

"I already asked," Mike yells from behind him.

"But she hasn't answered. I can still ask if she hasn't agreed yet."

"That's just rude man."

Tyler turns away from me to face Mike. "Like asking a month early is so fucking polite! A little warning would have been nice."

"Early bird gets the worm, jackass." Did Mike just call me a _worm_? I mean I get that it's a saying, but still.

"Afraid of a little competition?"

"What competition would this be? Cause I'm wracking my brain and I can't think of any."

"Big surprise, blonde's brain can't think."

"That wasn't what I meant dickhead!" People are staring. Why is this happening to me? What the hell happened to my amazing powers of social invisibility?

"What the hell guys?" Eric, of course.

"Mike was asking Bella to the Valentine's dance."

Eric turns to Mike with a look of disbelief and shouts, "Dude, that's in _February_!"

"I know that!" Mike bellows back, arms raised in the air.

"This is like being stabbed in the back by someone you thought was your friend, except it's worse because you _are_ my best friend. We shared a cubby in kindergarten. I let you put Barney stickers on the back wall, even though he freaked me out, because you got them for your birthday, and now you do this."

"Eric, shut up," Tyler commands.

"I had nightmares about those stickers," Eric adds pointedly. Mike rolls his eyes.

"Seriously man, enough with the stickers," Tyler says, before turning to Mike. "I thought we said we were going to all ask her together and then she could choose." Wait, what? They had a _plan_?

"Yeah... I think that's kind of dumb."

"It's not dumb, it's democratic," Eric hisses.

"Well, I guess I didn't think that was a very good idea," Mike replies.

"We agreed. We all agreed."

"Look we'll just do it now and move on. Whoever she picks, she picks," Tyler says with finality.

"Umm... I'm still here."

All three of them turn to look at me, and although they look a little embarrassed I don't think it's nearly enough for a group of guys who just admitted to having a _plan_ regarding me, because that's creepy on so many levels.

"Right well, we were going to do this a little... differently, but _someone_ decided to go rogue on us," Tyler says, partly turning to glare at Mike over his shoulder. "So, Bella, the three of us, Mike, Eric and myself kind of..."

"We like you," Eric cuts in when Tyler pauses.

"Yeah, which is a bit awkward considering we're all friends."

"At least we used to be," Eric mutters, glaring at Mike.

"I met her first," Mike says.

"You did not. I met her on the first day before first period, and I walked her to the office. You met her because _I_ invited her to sit at our table. While we're on meetings, Tyler only really met her when he nearly killed her."

"That was an accident," Tyler says defensively.

"All I'm saying is I've never nearly killed her and I've known her the longest."

"By half a day," Mike sneers.

"Still longer."

"So, anyway," Tyler says, cutting off Mike's response, "we would like you to choose."

I stand there with my mouth gaping open for a few seconds, before I manage to choke out, "I'm sorry, what?"

"We would all like the opportunity to take you out on a date..."

"Not all together," Eric interrupts.

"Well, obviously not all together," Tyler says, his voice hard with annoyance.

"I'm just trying to help."

"Being quiet would help."

"You know what, you're more of a jackass then the backstabber, and that's saying a lot."

"Name calling is not helping anybody, Eric."

"How about both of you shut the hell up and stop making us all look like morons in front of Bella," Mike says. And they all turn back to me. People have actually stopped in the halls to watch this fuckery, and they're not exactly being subtle about it. I really need to get out of here. I need to turn and run and find a large, well hidden rock to crawl under, or maybe a nice isolated cave that I could live in. Realistically speaking, all I really need is somewhere other people aren't, especially these people.

"So, what do you think?" Tyler asks, pulling me out of my thoughts. I think I may have missed some of this conversation. That might be for the best. Actually I kind of wish I'd missed the entirety of this conversation.

"I think... I have to go to the bathroom," I mumble, taking a few clumsy steps backwards.

"What?" I'm not sure which one of them says it, but it doesn't really matter. I don't answer. Instead I turn and make a run for it down the hallway. I realize running may be a bit of an overreaction. It's not like they're going to chase me to the bathroom, but it's faster, and the faster I get away from whatever the fuck _that_ was, the better.

I stumble down another hallway and round another corner before finally coming to a bathroom. The door bangs against the wall as I push my way inside.

The fact that the person looking back at me in the mirror is a distinctly crazier version of myself doesn't exactly make me feel better. I eye my reflection warily as I move to stand in front of the mirrors, gripping the counter as I hang my head over the sinks.

There's clearly something very wrong with this town. Maybe it's all the water, like it seeps inside people's heads and rots their brains or something. That would certainly explain a lot about my mind lately, but Dad and Carlisle seem fine and so does Edward... most of the time. Angie's lived here her entire life and she's a very rational person. So maybe waterlogged and rotting brains aren't the issue, but there's definitely something going on here.

Maybe it's some kind of water poisoning, a kind that only affects some people... teenage boy people... and Jess... and possibly me, because I don't remember being quite this crazy in Arizona. I wonder if there's a cure. I suppose I could ask Carlisle... but then I'd probably get institutionalized. He and Edward together have more than enough to put me away, I'm sure. I compared cooties to polio this morning. That's a sure sign of a disturbed mind right there.

A strange, crazed noise causes my head to jerk up, before I realize that it's me... laughing, if you want to call it that.

"Bella?" I turn and find a very concerned looking Edward standing by the door. Well this is all I need.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask, my loud voice echoing in the tiled room.

"What are _you_ doing in here?" Fuck, am I in the boy's bathroom? I try to discreetly look to the side, scanning the room for urinals, but instead I find the familiar white metal box on the wall with _Sanitary Napkins_ written across the front. Definitely the girl's room.

"What's going on?" Edward asks, taking a small, cautious step closer.

"The entire town is just... going _nuts_."

"What happened?"

"I got asked out," I mutter quietly.

He kind of tenses up all over, and he lets out a deep breath before asking, "What?"

"Mike asked me to the Valentine's dance."

"But that's in _February_," he replies.

"I know!" I shout, somewhat hysterically, throwing my hands up in the air much like Mike had. Maybe dramatic gesturing is a symptom of some kind, in which case Alice has definitely been infected.

"What did you say?"

"I didn't say anything, because then Tyler and Eric showed up and they all started yelling at each other about stickers and democracy, and _then_ they asked me to choose!"

"Choose what?"

"One of them! They wanted me to choose which one of them I wanted to go out with."

"What did you say?"

"I said I had to go to the bathroom, and then I ran. They're all crazy. They've all gone crazy. I think it's the water. They've all been water poisoned, and now they keep asking me out and glaring at each other!"

"Water poisoned? What does that mean?" I'm definitely freaking him out, he seems very alarmed. Maybe he hasn't been water poisoned, because that's a very logical response.

"You know," I screech, flapping my hands around. He flinches slightly at the pitch, but moves closer anyway.

"I really don't."

"Like... because of all the water and now it's... poisoning us."

"You are aware that doesn't make any sense, right?" He reaches out, wrapping a hand around my upper arm, either in an effort to comfort or restrain me. Possibly both.

"None of this makes any sense. People keep... _doing things_, and none of it makes sense."

"And by _doing things_ you mean asking you out?"

"Yes, although the fighting over Barney stickers is slightly worrying as well."

"Okay, how about we come back to the Barney issue later, and focus on the you-being-repeatedly-asked-out issue."

"It's not an _issue_. We just need to find some kind of cure, like humidifiers... but the opposite, because they make things wet and that's what we're trying to avoid."

Edward chuckles, ducking his head in an attempt to hide his amused smile from me, very ineffectually I might add.

"Bella, nobody is being poisoned, and if anybody is it's certainly not by water."

"Fine, what's your explanation then," I mutter irritably, scowling up at him. He gives me one of those bright smiles that almost makes my scowl melt, but I fight it, because he's laughing at me, damn it.

"Have you considered the possibility that people just like you?"

"No," I scoff.

"Well maybe you should."

"I lived in Phoenix for _years_ and I was practically invisible, which I enjoyed, by the way. Then I moved here and all of a sudden everybody's all weird. That doesn't just happen."

"Maybe the people in Phoenix had sun poisoning," he says with a smirk.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"_I'm_ being ridiculous?" he asks incredulously. "I know for a fact that the sun can be very harmful."

"Yeah, but that's you... and, you know, the rest of your family, but not... other people."

"Because skin cancer is harmless?"

"I'm not..." I sigh in frustration, hitting him lightly on the arm. "I'm talking about brains, Edward. I'm talking about people being affected in the brain."

"Oh, well I agree with that. Mike is definitely affected if he's asking you out again. Clearly I didn't punch him hard enough... or maybe I did it too hard."

"This isn't funny."

"No, it isn't. I'm going to have to punch him again. I hurt my hand last time."

"Edward," I groan, smacking him on the arm again.

"Why are you hitting me?"

"You're making fun of me."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are. You're mocking me."

"Bella, you're standing in the girl's bathroom ranting about _water poisoning_. That's not even a thing."

"It totally is."

"No, it isn't."

"It is too."

"I live with a doctor."

"And I live with a cop. That doesn't mean I know all the laws. You don't learn these things by osmosis."

"Osmosis? What am I swimming in him?"

"Ew," I reply, scrunching my face up in disgust.

"Okay, that was... I don't know how much longer I can have this conversation. I'm not even entirely sure what we're talking about anymore."

"I was talking about crazy people and then you made it weird."

"Right, _I_ made it weird," he mutters, running his hand over his face. "Bella, they asked you out because they like you. You're likable."

"Likability is not the issue; it's so fucking far from the issue. I have a finite number of people here I consider friends. Three of them have apparently conspired to mass ask me out in the middle of the hallway, or at least that's what happened, whether or not that was their intention, and another one is getting better, but is still a little off because she's semi-obsessed with you. Angela is the only one acting normal."

"What, I don't make the cut?"

"You!" I shout loudly, pointing a menacing finger at him, "You're the worst one! You got weird on me this morning. All I was doing was threatening to hypothetically kill you with polio, and then you kind of quasi asked me out, or you didn't whatever, but you did and then I didn't know what to say, and then you freaked out and then everything got weird. _Then_ you followed me into the girls bathroom which is a little freaky, but kind of sweet assuming you came in here for me and not to do something pervy." I give him a hard look, but I doubt it's very effective.

Did I just accuse him of asking me out and doing something pervy in the girls bathroom in the same rambling and most likely nonsensical rant? Wonderful.

"You passed me when you ran down the hall." His expression is somewhere between amused and serious, which is very confusing.

"I was hoping nobody saw that."

"Well it never hurts to be optimistic." His tone fits with his normal banter, but he's looking at me _like that_ again. I don't know how much more of this I can deal with today.

"Well I'm optimistic that you're not going to get weird again. I mean you're normally a little weird and I like that, but you got silent, awkward weird today and that's not okay, seriously."

He looks down guiltily and the hand he's still got on my arm flexes slightly.

"Maybe I should just go home, cut my loses before this day gets any worse," I mutter. "Even better, I could be home schooled. I'm sure I could find somebody to do that, or I could teach myself. I could read the entirety of Wikipedia. There must be some educational value in that."

He laughs and replies, "I wouldn't bet on it."

"Don't be so negative. It could work."

"I'm sorry I got weird," he says seriously, "but you got weird too."

"In reaction to your weirdness," I reply defensively.

"Well your weirdness didn't exactly help with mine."

"Oh, now the weirdness is my fault?" I'm sorely tempted to shove him, and maybe laugh when he lands on the bathroom floor, but then his hand wouldn't be on my arm anymore, and I'm kind of enjoying that.

"I'm not saying that. Although you are the source, so it's not all me."

"What? How am I _the source_?"

"You just... you are," he says, his voice rising as he starts to get flustered.

"That's not an explanation. That's barely even a sentence, Edward. If you're going to get all weird on me, on a _Monday_ of all days, the least you can do is give me a good reason."

He stares at me for a moment, his expression serious, and thoughtful, and anxious, and a whole shit load of other stuff that's making my brain hurt, and then he grabs my head. He pulls me forward, hitting my body against his, and then holds me there, his lips almost kind of touching mine. He's so close, solid and warm. I've definitely been water poisoned, because this is clearly a hallucination. Maybe my whole life here is. Maybe I'm actually lying in a hospital bed in a van-induced coma. That would explain a _lot_. Like why this beautiful boy would look at _me_ like _that_, like... God, I don't even know what that is.

"Edward." It was supposed to be a question like _what the hell is going on?_ Or _have you been drinking the water too?_ Or maybe even _why are you holding on to my head like this? It's really kind of weird and you're squishing my ears._ Instead it comes out... Christ, that was a whimper.

"I think I might be losing my mind," I quietly confess.

"I know the feeling."

And then his lips are suddenly touching mine. This is really not where I saw this conversation going.

There are a few seconds where my rattled brain attempts to figure out what the hell is going on, before it finally clicks into place: I'm being kissed. Edward Cullen is kissing me... and squishing my ears against my head, but I don't really care because he's _kissing_ me.

How the fuck did this happen? Does this mean he likes me? It seems like a fairly clear indication. Of course it is possible that he's just trying to shut me up because I was scaring him with my intense crazy. I should act like a complete nut job more often.

The kiss itself is tentative and a little stiff, but somehow still nice. I also kind of feel like I'm going to throw up... in a good way. God, this is so confusing.

I reach up and move his hands down to rest on my shoulders as he slowly pulls away.

"I like you," he admits quietly.

"Okay."

_Okay?_ What the hell is that? Only minutes ago I was spewing out every crazy thing my brain came up with, and now all I can come up with is _okay_?

He takes a deep breath before he continues. "And this morning I did kind of quasi ask you out, but then you didn't say anything for what felt like a really long time, although it may have actually been a fairly short amount of time, and then I freaked out... as you know."

"Okay," I respond dumbly.

"Can you say something other than _okay_? Because I'm starting to freak out again," he says, desperation tingeing his voice as his hands start to squeeze my shoulders. I don't remember him being this handsy before.

I pry his fingers off my collarbones and hold them between us, trying to steel myself.

"If you had completely, fully asked me out, I would've said yes."

"Well that's much better than okay."

And then I get that smile again. It's even better when I'm not high on pain killers and slightly creeped out by the fact that I'm alone in a hospital room with a guy I think is psychotic while I'm lying in a bed with thin sheets, naked except for some paper smock thing. Does that mean that Carlisle saw me naked? Oh God I'm never going to be able to look him in the eye again, or go to Edward's house, or the hospital... when avoidable.

Edward grimaces suddenly, and croaks, "You're squeezing my hands really hard."

"I'm sorry. Sorry. Crap." I release his hands, and rub the red marks gently. "Only a Monday could be this fucked up. Not that this is fucked up, but... well I mean it is fucked up, but in a good way... overall. Not so much this morning, or the beginning of lunch, but post-school-bathroom-panic-attack is going pretty well... overall. Well the kiss part was good, the ranting probably doesn't go in the plus column. Feel free to shut me up any time. Seriously, because it doesn't seem like I'm going to be doing it on my own anytime soon-"

And then he kisses me again. My scare-Edward- with-my-intense-crazy-to-get-him-to-kiss-me idea seems to be working out very well. I'm a genius. A crazy, overwhelmed genius. I kinda feel like I'm going to throw up again... in a good way.

His hands let go of mine and settle on my waist just above my hips, pulling me closer as my hands move to rest on his arms. He has nice arms... and lips. He seems to be pretty nice all around actually.

This kiss is much better than the first one. Our lips slowly move against each other's, and it's still surreal, but less awkward than before. It's pretty great actually... really great, although that may have a lot to do with the fact that it's _Edward_. How did this happen again?

I giggle, yes _giggle,_ a little, but it ends up sounding more like a snort since my mouth is pressed against his. He starts silently laughing and then I start silently laughing, and then our lips don't really fit together anymore and we're both kind of shaking which makes us laugh harder.

He moves his lips away and leans his forehead against mine.

"You know, I don't think you should go to the dance with them," he says thoughtfully.

"No, I don't like dances."

"But you like me?"

"Yes, I do." If I were to look at myself in the mirror right now, which I'm intentionally trying to avoid, I think I would probably describe the colour of my cheeks as candy apple red. I think I'm at stage five, maybe even a six, of blushing and I'm definitely smiling like an idiot.

"Good," He chuckles, and kisses me again. When he leans back, he looks at the bathroom around us with a grimace. "Out of all the times I've imagined kissing you, I can honestly say there were never any toilets in the room."

"You've imagined kissing me?" I ask with surprise. I hadn't gotten that far. Clearly I was behind.

"Amongst other things," he replies with a smirk. Oh.

"Very behind apparently," I mutter.

"What?"

"I think I have a lot of catching up to do."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says with a laugh.

"Good."

"No, come on. What are you behind on?" He shakes me gently, causing me to sway forwards and backwards.

"Never mind."

"Tell me."

"No."

"I got the meaning of SWCIFD out of you, I'll get this too."

"_You_ didn't do anything. You just got lucky because I panicked and deflected."

"Deflected? What were we talking about?" Why the fuck did I bring this up?

"Cannibal cupcakes," I reply reluctantly.

"And why did you need to deflect that?"

"Because... it's embarrassing," I groan, letting my forehead fall against his chest. He's got a nice chest too.

"Why?"

"Because you were one of the cupcakes," I mutter into his shirt.

"Are you saying... did you _eat me_?"

I straighten up to scowl at him, and reply, "No, I didn't _eat_ anyone, thank you very much." I shove him playfully and he stumbles back a little, before he steps back in front of me.

"So what did you do?"

"I was supposed to choose."

"Choose a cupcake?" he asks. I nod. "Which corresponds to a person?"

"Yes."

"Male people?"

"Yes."

"Which ones?" I just shake my head. I'm not going into that. "Okay, who did you choose?"

"I woke up before that happened."

He narrows his eyes in frustration. "Who were you _going_ to choose?"

"Well I don't think I would've let anyone else kiss me in a bathroom... or any other kind of room actually." I get the bright smile again, before he brushes his lips against mine. I guess at some point _I_ should probably kiss _him_.

"So... should I be offended that your subconscious thinks of me as a cupcake or happy that you were going to choose cupcake-me to... what were you going to do with the cupcake after you picked?"

"I don't know. Although I also thought you'd make a great cult leader, and that's much more masculine than a cupcake... I think."

"A cult leader?"

"I think you've got the potential."

"Is that a compliment?"

"I'm not really sure," I answer honestly.

"You may be the weirdest woman I've ever met."

"Is _that_ a compliment?"

"So, what kind of cult are we talking about?" He asks with a smirk. "Do we murder others or mass suicide? Is it a hippy commune or more of a militaristic set up? Am I a prophet or a prevaricator? What are we talking about here?"

I fight the urge to hide my face again, and answer, "I'm not really sure. Mostly I just thought you'd have lots of wives who would have lots of kids, and everyone would be named after apples."

"Apples? What, like someone would be named _Macintosh_?"

Someone like Jess, perhaps. "Exactly. And you'd all live on an apple orchard in the middle of nowhere and you'd go on and on about the... what was it?" I scrunch my eyes shut, wracking my brain for the word he used. "Oh! The dichotomy of apples."

"Hmm." He gets a funny look on his face, confused and thoughtful and all kinds of other things at once. Maybe calling him a cupcake and a cult leader in the span of a few minutes was a bit much.

"What?" I ask. I really hope I haven't offended him, although SWCIFD didn't offend him and that was much more personal.

"You'd be Royal Gala."

"Huh?"

"If I was going to name you after an apple, I'd call you Royal Gala."

"Who says I'd be a part of your cult?" The sad thing is if he did run a cult, I'm pretty sure I'd join in a heartbeat. Maybe he could just have one wife... Jesus Christ, I haven't even imagined kissing him yet and suddenly we're married so I won't feel so bad about being a member of his cult.

"Me. I'm the leader aren't I?"

"Maybe I don't want to be a part of your cult."

"I'd have to make sure you wanted to be."

"I don't really _do_ polygamy," I reply.

"Well then you shouldn't have put it in there. That was a very silly thing to do."

I roll my eyes at him and ask, "Why would you call me Royal Gala?"

"Because they're sweet, and they have a very nice pink blush colour." Which of course makes me blush, and he knew it would too, the bastard. The bastard that I think I might be dating. Oh my god I'm dating Edward Cullen. I'm definitely in a van-induced coma. As coma dreams go, I think this is a pretty good one... a very good one.... a completely fucking fantastic one, actually.

"Just like that," he mutters smugly.

"Shut up."

"I really am sorry about the whole bathroom thing... and freaking out... and stealing the coffee you didn't want."

"It was a _gift_."

"That you didn't want. Speaking of which, am I still dying of cooties?"

"I said I wasn't going to kill you."

"But I would like both my arms. Does repeated exposure make me immune?"

"I don't know," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. "I still feel very strongly about that coffee."

"Hmm."

"I feel reparations may be in order." I do my best not to blush when I say it, but... yeah it doesn't work.

"Well then maybe I should take you to dinner."

"I could probably live with that." Why couldn't I just say that the first time?

He smiles and I smile, and my face is really starting to hurt.

"Would it be overly optimistic to ask to take you out tonight?"

"I would like to, but I have to tell my dad first. He may or may not want to kill you when I do, so we should probably let him get over that a little... just a little, I don't want to wait too long."

"Yeah, that's going to be interesting," he says, grimacing as he runs his hand through his hair. "Do you think I should be there? I mean, maybe if I..."

"No. I think that's a really bad idea. I think you should probably try to avoid him whenever you can, especially when there aren't any witnesses around. I prefer you alive."

"Me too."

"Good. So, I'll tell him tonight, and if he shows up at your house, you hide."

"Sounds like a plan." He steps closer, putting his hands back on my hips, and I'm pretty sure he's going to kiss me, but the bell signalling the end of lunch goes off first. He groans quietly. "I guess we should probably get to class."

I seriously consider suggesting we skip, but if Dad found out, which I'm sure he would, that wouldn't help anything. I need to be as much on his good side as I can be before I tell him about Edward.

He grabs my hand and starts to lead me towards the bathroom door, before he pauses suddenly. Turning he says, "You distracted me again."

"From what?"

"From finding out what you were talking about."

"You'll have to be more specific. I talk a lot, or at least I did in here." Massive amounts of rambling took place in this bathroom, if I wasn't so happy about where this all ended up I'd probably be really embarrassed about it. As it is I'm only a little embarrassed.

"What are you behind on?"

"I'm sorry. I don't believe I remember that particular part of the conversation."

"You're so full of shit." Prove it.

"That's very rude, Edward. I have to get to class." I walk around him towards the door, but he pulls me to him by my arm. He presses a brief kiss against my lips before releasing me.

"Call me after you tell your father."

"Okay. I'll try to unload his guns while he's not looking."

"Thank you. I can't believe we completely missed lunch. I'm going to be facing the inquisition when I get home," he sighs. "I'm sorry you didn't get anything to eat."

"Totally worth it."

I'm definitely at least a little bit crazy, because something that's normally uncomfortable and annoying, hunger pains, suddenly makes me smile like an idiot because they remind me of why I didn't eat lunch today. It's just unnatural to feel this happy before math class, especially when I'm facing the very real possibility that Dad is going to fit me with a chastity belt when he gets home. I bet those fuckers chafe too. Maybe I could get Edward to help me apply some kind of cream...

I'm thinking it's not going to take me too long to get caught up.

**A/N:**Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays.

Addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads are on my profile page.


	20. Chastity Belts and Blackmail

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net) and Feisty Y. Beden (FFn and Ravelry).

**Chastity Belts and Blackmail**

Post-Edward-kissing-in-the-bathroom/mid-acting-like-a-complete-fucking-idiot-who-just-got-kissed-in-the-bathroom aka the rest of my school day is... interesting. I am a giggling, blushing, mildly panicking mess who is attempting to avoid Mike, Tyler, Eric, and Jess while simultaneously making a very concentrated effort to catch up with the mental imaginings of Edward, hence the giggling and blushing... and also the mild panicking, actually. The panicking is mostly due to a realization I had during math, namely this:

At some point, possibly in the near future, Edward may see me naked. He may touch me while I'm naked, which also means I may see him naked, and I may be expected to touch him while he's naked. The panic comes from the guaranteed fact that I'm going make a complete ass out of myself. Still, if I die of naiveté-based embarrassment at the age of seventeen, at least I'll have gotten to see Edward Cullen naked first.

I am, of course, getting ridiculously ahead of myself, but that's what I'm good at, so why fight it?

Anyway, I'm trying to avoid a lot of people, which is actually really hard to do in small school. Luckily the guys seem to be giving me some distance, presumably because they're expecting me to be making a decision right now. That's not a conversation I'm looking forward to. At least now I can tell them something like "Oh geez I'd really like to and all, but I've already got a date." Obviously this will necessitate fudging the timeline a little, so that the real, backpedalling-free Edward offer comes before theirs, but I'm really okay with that.

Of course Jess is another story. Since we were formerly in the habit of walking out of school together she knows exactly where I'm going to be at the end of the day, and this information enables her to corner me on my way from my locker to the parking lot. My last minute, panicky attempt at dodging her results in me stumbling into a classroom doorjamb and nearly taking out some guy with a fohawk.

"What the hell is with you today?" Jess asks after I've righted myself and rolled my eyes at the annoyed glare of Fohawk.

"What?" I ask, starting down the hallway again.

"You're acting weird, and not even the same kind of weird you were this morning. I mean I get that that whole ceremony of the roses ambush style has probably thrown you off a bit, but that still doesn't explain this morning."

"Why are you talking about roses?"

"It's from _The Bachelor_, when they have to choose the people they want to keep."

"Oh."

"So, what's going on with you today... aside from the lunchtime hallway sideshow?"

I briefly, _very_ briefly, consider telling Jess what happened with Edward this morning, but considering how she reacted to those rumours I don't think that's a conversation I want to have in public. I've had enough traumatic hallway experiences for one day. Plus I really think I should tell Dad first. That way nobody else can tell him before me.

"Nothing," I say. "I'm fine. Everything's fine." My entire life doesn't seem to be changing at all.

"_Fine_? Fine is normal. Weird is not normal. I mean you're always kind of weird, but relatively speaking you're not being normal."

"I think _weird_ might be the word of the day," I mutter.

"See, that right there? That's a weird thing to say."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. Now tell me what's going on."

"Nothing."

"Nothing? You're lying, and you're not very good at it. You completely blew me off twice this morning. So, either you were ignoring me, which makes me angry, or something's got you totally distracted, which makes me worried."

"I blew you off?"

"_Twice_," she reiterates.

"I'm sorry. I was distracted."

"But you did try to hide from me just now, didn't you?"

"I wouldn't say _hide_ so much as... well yeah, kind of. Sorry. It's just that I have to tell you something, but I can't tell you right now, so I thought it'd just be easier to... hide." I've also been kind of worried that she'd figure out what's going on as soon as she got the chance to talk to me. Aren't girls supposed to be able to sense these kinds of things?

"Seems rude."

"It was rude. I'm sorry." I really am. I feel like a giant jerk now.

"Tell me what's going on."

"I can't. I will, but not now."

"When?"

"Tomorrow?" I reply hesitantly, pushing through the door to the parking lot.

"Why can't you tell me now?"

"I can't answer that without telling you what it is, so..."

Jess sighs and gives me an annoyed look.

"Give me a hint."

"No."

"You're making me nervous."

"This is why I didn't want to talk about it."

"Is it about me?" Jess asks.

"Not directly."

"But it has to do with me?"

"It may affect you," I hedge.

"Tell me what it is," she demands.

"No."

"Bella," she moans, smacking my arm in frustration.

"Ow."

"Well... I don't care. Everybody's being weird today. The guys weren't even talking to each other over lunch, so me and Angela made awkward small talk while they glared at each other. I should've picked better friends. I mean Angela was clearly solid choice, but Mike and Eric? What the fuck was I thinking? This is the problem with small towns. You choose your friends when you're five and then you're stuck with them. I should've known Eric was a bad choice when he threw a hissy fit at my Barney-themed birthday party. I really thought Mike had potential though. Where did it all go wrong? I mean when we were little..."

I'm fairly certain Jess is still talking, but once I look up and see Edward waiting by the car, watching me, I don't seem to be able to listen very well anymore. He smiles, and then I smile, and then I stumble and nearly take a header in the middle of the parking lot. Fuck me. With a shriek, I grab onto Jess's arm and end up slamming my weight against her side. Although she gets jolted, she does manage to keep us upright, something I definitely wouldn't have been able to do.

"Did you just body check me?"

"No! Well, sort of... accidentally." After a few moments of her staring at me suspiciously I clarify, "I tripped."

We both look down. Of course there's nothing there. She looks up at me questioningly, and I shrug.

"It's a talent."

"Well now that you've inflicted your _talent_ on me, maybe you could make it up to me by telling me what the hell's going on."

"Still no."

I start walking again, being very careful to avoid looking at Edward, because apparently I'm capable of tripping over... I don't know, _moments_ or something. I'm not sure this whole feelings thing is good idea. I think my brain is starting to turn into goo.

I hear Jess huff behind me and a few beats later her quick footsteps to catch up to me.

"You suck," she mutters.

"I'm going to tell you eventually," I say with a sigh.

"Now would be better."

"Now is not an option."

"Which is why you suck."

"Nice."

I can tell we're getting close to Edward, because Jess gets quiet and a little awkward, like she's overly aware of... well everything. I'm a little nervous myself. This is the first time I've seen him since lunch, since declarations and kissing. What the hell am I supposed to say? _Hey, how was your afternoon? I don't really remember mine, because I was busy thinking obsessively about you. Math was probably boring though. It always is._ Did I take notes during math? If this is a sign of things to come I'm fucked. Royally.

"Hey, Edward." Jess's voice still does that hitch thing a little when she says his name. Should I care about that? My friend's voice hitching when she says my boyfriend's... boyfriend-type person's name seems like the kind of thing I should care about. Or maybe I should only care if it was his voice doing that. This is all very confusing.

"Hey," Edward says in response. He's still a bit hesitant, but seems more comfortable than he was.

I look up to find him smiling at me. Actually I think he might be laughing.

"You better not be laughing at me."

"I wouldn't dream of it. Although if I was, it would probably be because of all the strange little faces you've been making, which would obviously not be my fault."

His smile grows as my face flushes.

With a scowl I mutter, "My face is not strange."

"That's not exactly what I said. Hello to you too by the way."

"Oh... hi."

"Hi," he answers quietly. God, I want to kiss him, or even just touch his hand. It's _right_ there.

"Okay, well... I'm gonna go," Jess says awkwardly. My head whips around to look at her. I give her a sheepish smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, we'll talk." With a small wave she turns and leaves.

Does she know? Maybe girls really can sense these kinds of things. I mean _I_ can't, but that's not really saying a lot.

"You're making faces again."

"Stop making fun of my face."

"I'm not. I like your face, even when it's being strange."

"My face is _not_ strange. Everybody keeps telling how abnormal I am. I'm going to get a complex."

He smiles. Reaching up to brush his fingers against my cheek, he briefly touches the corner of my mouth with his thumb. Now I _really_ want to kiss him, or possibly giggle like an idiot. So very unfair.

"I'm fairly certain I've never called you abnormal - quirky maybe, but that's not the same thing at all."

"Quirky's fine, as long as it's not... you know..." I reach up and move his hand away from my face. "Your hands are cold." And distracting, very distracting.

"We should get in the car." I agree with a nod and walk over to the passenger side. He follows, which is confusing until he opens the door and holds out his hand to help me in. For a fleeting moment, one of his hands slip under the hem of my jacket and shirt, grazing the bare skin of my lower back. My breath hitches, and my face gets warm. I'm definitely going to make an ass of myself when nudity becomes involved.

After I'm settled in the car he goes around to the other side and gets in beside me. On the way to my house I watch my folded fingers while he taps his against the steering wheel. Neither of us say anything. It's not nearly as bad as the drive to school, but there's definitely some awkwardness in the air.

"So..." Edward starts and then pauses for a few moments. "Should we have a plan or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're going to talk to the Chief tonight, and then what happens?"

"Umm..."

"Do you think he's going to say no?"

"My mom won't let him," I reply with a laugh.

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I'm thinking she's probably going to demand a picture in return."

"A picture of what?"

"You."

"Oh, yeah."

"She _really_ wants a picture of you. Hopefully I'll be able to pacify her with that and avoid having to hand over your number."

"Why exactly does she want a picture of me?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? One day out of the blue she just asked for a picture of a person she's never met?"

"Well, she knows about the crash thing... and maybe a bit about the play thing, so I guess she wants to know what you look like. She's a very visual person." He looks over at me, and it's pretty clear he knows I'm leaving something out. "I may have been cornered into saying you're cute," I grumble quietly.

"So you think I'm cute?" he asks teasingly.

I groan. "Why do I tell you things?"

Edward smirks and opens his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off.

"Drop it."

"Now why would I do that?"

"I'll sic my father on you."

He laughs and says, "I don't think you would."

"Oh, I would. Don't push me, Edward."

"First you threaten to kill me over coffee..."

"Just maim."

"...And now you're threatening to have me killed because you think I'm cute?"

"I'm threatening to have you killed to avoid you being obnoxious now that you know I think you're cute. You really need to work on getting your facts straight."

"I'm thinking I should write one of those _If I die under suspicious circumstances..._ type of letters, and then hide it somewhere safe, just in case."

"I don't think you're supposed to tell me that."

"Of course I am. Now you know that if you kill me you'll get caught. I just have to make sure you don't know where it is."

"Keep in mind my father is the chief of police. You may want to consider that if you're going to start throwing around accusations."

"I wouldn't be throwing around anything. I'd be dead."

"Well then you'd really be screwed."

Edward laughs and asks, "Why are we talking about this?"

"You started it."

"You always blame me. I don't have conversations like this with other people."

"Well then I don't know why you do it with me."

"_I_ don't do anything. It's all you. You are the sole source of our bizarre conversation topics." He gives me a _so there_ kind of look, and I scowl at him. _I'm_ not the one who sneaks up on people on gym bleachers or in hospital rooms. If anybody in this car is bizarre it's... "I quite like that about you," he adds with a small smile.

"Don't try to distract me with your flattery."

"Oh come on, that was smooth."

"You're going to end up in the tropics if you're not careful."

"Oh, yeah? I wouldn't mind spending some time down south," he replies playfully with an exaggerated eyebrow arch.

"Shut up, I'm trying to threaten you."

"I'm sorry. Am I not reacting in a suitably intimidated fashion?"

"Seriously, just shut up."

He laughs, clearly very pleased with himself. I shake my head and turn away to look out the window.

After a few moments his fingers starts tapping on the steering wheel, and I can see him shifting restlessly in his seat.

"So..." he starts hesitantly, and then lets it trail off with a sigh.

"So?"

"So, now that we've established that your father isn't going to lock you away in the tallest tower... we have established that, haven't we?"

"I'm not ruling out the possibility of a chastity belt, but I think incarceration is very unlikely."

"Do they even make chastity belts anymore?"

"I've heard _Everlast_ produces some great ones."

"Well you know what this means, don't you?" he asks. I shake my head. "We should have sex... _today_."

"Really?" I ask with a laugh.

"I know, it's fast. I don't want this either, but logic must prevail. Something as simple as a misplaced key or an unrelentingly overprotective father, and you're dying a virgin in iron underwear. Do you really want that? Because I don't want that for you. Sacrifices have to be made, and I'm willing to make that sacrifice."

"Did you have a point when you started this conversation?"

"What? Oh yeah. I was going to say that since we know, or at least we're reasonably sure that the Chief isn't going to forbid you from seeing me, maybe we should make some kind of plan."

"What kind of plan?" I ask as he pulls into my driveway.

"The you-going-on-a-date-with-me-Saturday kind of plan."

"Planning is good."

"So...?"

"So... you haven't actually asked," I reply primly.

"Alright, Bella would you like to go on a date with me on Saturday?"

"Assuming no unscheduled plans, like a last minute chastity belt fitting, pop up, I would love to."

He smiles at me, big and bright. Once again I _really_ want to kiss him, but now I actually can. I hoist myself up from my seat and turn towards him. My intention was to carefully lean closer, but being me I lose my balance and end up somewhat lunging at Edward. I do prevent myself from actually crashing into him by bracing myself on his door with my outstretched hand, so it's not like there are casualties or anything.

Edward's expression seems torn between terror and laughter. I can't seem to think beyond _I nearly assaulted Edward_. That mixed with adrenaline and shock makes me laugh, hard. For whatever reason laughter makes my arm weak, and I nearly end up very gracelessly flopping down onto his lap. Luckily he seems to have collected himself a bit and he manages to grip my waist before I fall. I lean my forehead against his, scrunching my eyes closed. This could be going better.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm _trying_ to kiss you."

"I think that's supposed to involve more lips. Also, less attempted head butting." I can hear the smile in his voice.

"I fell."

"I noticed."

His head shifts slightly. His lips brush against the spot where my bottom lip meets my chin and then again where the corner of my mouth meets my cheek.

"_I_ am supposed to be kissing _you_," I complain.

"I'm just demonstrating." I want to say something clever like... well I don't know. That's the problem. I don't have anything to say, clever or otherwise. My heart is pounding, the nausea is returning, and my arm is starting to shake a little from holding me up. Also somewhere buried under all the Edward-related things speeding through my overheating brain there's the thought that if we were in Steve right now there wouldn't be a gearshift digging into my leg. I should go visit Steve.

_Just fucking kiss him already!_ So I do. He's already moving, presumably planning another "demonstration," but I move too, and our lips meet. His hands flex on my hips, pulling me forward slightly. Why did we only start doing this today? That seems like a very silly oversight.

It's not long before my arm really starts to strain and I have to pull away and drop back into my seat. It's quiet for a moment, before Edward asks, "Do you think they fit them?"

"What?"

"Chastity belts."

"Oh. I would think they'd have to. I don't think it's a one-size-fits-all kind of situation." He makes a thoughtful noise in response. I narrow my eyes at him. "Stop imagining me in iron underwear."

"I'd like to see you try to stop me. Offer's still open by the way, and I'd give it some serious thought if I were you. Decisions need to be made _before it's too late_."

"You're totally just assuming I'm a virgin."

"What? No, I'm not. I was just... you said chastity belt, and a chastity belt is useless if you don't have any, uh, chastity. I was just going with it."

"Mm hm."

"Do you have chastity?" he asks hesitantly.

I laugh. "This is a hell of a conversation to have pre-first date."

"Well you don't have to tell me. I mean you could, if you wanted to. Do you want to?"

I take a deep breath, trying to hold in the nervous laughter, as I answer, "I'm chock-full of it."

I need to get out of this car. I need to get inside, go up to my room, and try to put my brain back into some semblance of order. Today has been one thing after another fucking with my brain. I need a restart button so I can assimilate all the new updates I've gotten today. Maybe that's what sleep is for. Maybe I could take a nap and wake up with everything adjusted.

Edward = closer to boyfriend then friend.

Mike, Eric and Tyler = people who need to be avoided until I figure out what I'm going to do about that giant mess. Maybe I could get them a newer shiny toy, like a blow up doll, and then they could fight over that.

Jess = TBA

Tomorrow is going to be interesting.

"I'm going to go now. I'll see you tomorrow," I say.

"Alright."

"Okay."

I get out of the car, and Edward follows suit, silently walking me to the house. We're at the door before he says anything.

"You're not going to ask me?"

"What?"

"I asked you. Are you going to ask me?"

"Could you be more specific?"

He gives me a look like he knows I'm being intentionally difficult, but why should I make it easy? He did call my face strange. "Well, let's think. What have I asked you?"

"Umm... do _you_ think they need to be fitted?"

"Bella..."

"Edward."

"Do you really not want to know? There could be giant condom-less orgies lurking in my past, and you might never know."

"You don't even talk to women... women you're not in some way related to, anyway."

"I talk to you."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure I'd remember that."

"I could've had sex," he says defensively.

"Do you have a sister I don't know about?"

"Ha fucking ha." He rolls his eyes and smirks at me. "Always so fucking funny," he mumbles before briefly pressing his lips to mine.

"I thought you liked that about me?" I call after him as he walks down the front stairs.

"Yeah, that and your strange face," he replies with laughter in his voice.

"My face is not strange!" He doesn't visibly react, but it seems to startle the neighbour walking out her front door across the street. I give her a half-hearted wave, before I turn my attention back to Edward. "Jackass."

He laughs.

00000

Napping does not work out. It turns out I'm not tired at four in the afternoon, which sucks because it means I have to work shit out on a conscious level, or watch TV. I choose TV.

Halfway through an episode of some eighties sitcom with a tinny laugh track a forceful and persistent knocking starts on the front door. As I get up and slowly make my way towards the door I run over the possibilities of who it could be. It's too early for it to be Dad, unless he somehow found out about Edward, and in his haste to get home and ship me off to an all-girls boarding school he forgot his key. That would be bad. It could be Mike, or Eric, or Tyler, or all three. That would be worse in any possible variation. It could be Edward. That would be good. Why didn't I invite him in? He's way more entertaining than crappy afternoon TV - clearly a flaw in the planning there.

Fortunately it's not Dad, Mike, Eric, or Tyler. Unfortunately it's not Edward either.

"Jess?" Her hand is still up, poised to knock yet again on the now-open door while she looks at me in wide-eyed surprise.

"Um... hi?"

"Hi. What's going on?" She gives me a sheepish smile, before she squares her shoulders and walks past me into the house. "So, what's going on?" I repeat, as I shut the front door.

"You're being weird," she says forcefully.

"We've already had this conversation."

"But it's going to end differently this time."

"Really?"

"Yes, because I'm going to explain how I realize that you've probably got a good reason, or at least what you consider to be a good reason not to tell me that thing that you're not telling me, but for the sake of my sanity I need to know. I will tell you how this is going to drive me insane, because my mind is a super dramatic place, and putting these half-formed ideas about vague bad things in there and letting them stew in their vague badness is really not a good idea. You have no idea what this is doing to me. For like twenty minutes I was convinced you were dying, and you better not be, because that is not the kind of thing you don't tell people, Bella. And then after I've told you all that, you're going to tell me what the fuck is going on."

"Am I?"

"_Bella!_" I flinch in surprise at her sudden volume increase, and put my hands up in a calming gesture.

"I'm not dying."

"_And_...?"

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath. "Okay, well at lunch..."

"This started before lunch," she impatiently interrupts.

"What?"

"You were weird before lunch. Start before lunch."

"Fine. _This morning_..."

"Better."

"... Edward came over early to pick me up for school, and we were talking in the kitchen."

"About what?"

"Not important. Anyway he stole my coffee, and we were joking around, and then he offered to buy me dinner, jokingly... but kind of not, and then..."

"No, wait. I've changed my mind. I don't want to know this."

"Okay," I agree hesitantly.

She walks past me towards the door, but stops before she reaches it. Her face is very determined and possibly resigned when she turns back around to face me.

"Tell me."

"Jess..."

"We're doing this!"

"We don't have to," I quietly mutter.

"Yes we do, because we're friends, and this is a thing that friends do. Let's do this."

"You're not going to like this."

"I know. Spit it out."

"He kissed me."

Her face scrunches up almost comically, before she incredulously asks, "He kissed you?"

"Yeah."

"Before or after the moron sideshow?"

"After. He followed me into the bathroom when I was running away from them."

"He followed you into the bathroom? The _girls'_ bathroom?"

"It's not as creepy as it sounds."

"But it's still a little creepy."

"No, it's not creepy at all. It's sweet."

"Yeah, he's a real Darcy McWhat's-His-Face," she grumbles.

"What?"

"You know, that guy from that book, _Pride and Prejudice_. Isn't he supposed to be all romantic or something?"

"Oh." _What_?

"So, Darcy followed you into the bathroom, and what, kissed you in a toilet stall?" I briefly consider telling her that Darcy was actually his last name, but I prefer Darcy to Fitzwilliam, so I figure it's probably best to just leave it.

"No, it was in the... you know the big area with the sinks."

"Really? I'm surprised no one saw you. I'm pretty sure I would've heard if they had."

"Actually nobody came in."

"Oh. Were you in the orange bathroom? You must've been. Nobody uses that one anymore."

"Why?"

"They redid the ones by the office a few years ago, and they're way nicer. Plus the old toilets seem to overflow all the time, which is just beyond disgusting. Didn't I tell you all this before?"

"No. You also didn't tell me the Cullens were allergic to sunlight until I brought it up."

"Huh. I guess I just assumed you knew. Everybody knows."

I shrug.

"So, what does this mean?" she asks.

"He wants to take me out on Saturday."

"Aw, is Darcy taking you for a vending machine picnic at a truck stop?"

"You're really enjoying calling him that, aren't you?"

"It makes me feel better. I realize that's probably petty, but I really don't care."

"I have no problem with that."

"Well... good." She sighs and looks towards the door longingly, before she blurts out, "Is he a good kisser?"

"Uh..." How am I supposed to answer that? Should I answer at all? Maybe I should lie.

"No, I don't want to know." She pauses and sighs again, before she moans, "No, I do. Tell me."

"Jess..."

"No! Maybe some other time. I need time. Ignore me."

"Okay," I respond uneasily. She's going to give herself mental whiplash if she keeps this up.

"Unless he's not, then you can tell me. Don't tell me."

"Maybe you should go home?" I suggest hesitantly.

"I think that would be a good idea. I need to process."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," she mumbles as she walks past me. She seems pretty stunned as she plods across the lawn towards her car. Considering the amount of time it takes her to get her door open I'm starting to think maybe she shouldn't be driving. I decide to offer to call someone to drive her home, but then nothing happens. She just sits in the driver's seat, staring blankly ahead.

After a few minutes I start to slowly make my way towards the car, tapping the window when I get there.

"Jess?"

"I'm fine," she replies without moving.

"Are you sure?"

"Yep, I just need some time."

"Alright, well... let me know if you need anything."

She nods slightly and continues to stare out the windshield.

I stand there awkwardly for a few more moments, before heading back into the house.

I'm not sure how long she stays out there, but she's gone when I peek out the window twenty minutes later. I think I put Jess into shock.

I vacillate between feeling guilty and justified for the rest of the afternoon until I hear the front door opening. Fuck.

"Hello?" Dad calls out from the front hall. Despite the sudden and overwhelming urge to make a run for my room, I get up and go out into the hallway. Just rip it off like a Band-Aid.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hey, Bells." He looks up to smile at me as he pulls off his shoes. "Good day at school?"

"It was... it was a hell of a day."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"Kind of both, to varying degrees."

"I'm not sure how to respond to that."

"I have to tell you something."

His expression goes from confusion to dread. "I once had a conversation with your mother that started like this. I believe this was the part where the pregnancy test came into play."

"What? Oh, no, no, no. There's no... I didn't pee on anything. This is just... no. _No_."

His body seems to slump in relief.

"I'm going on a date with Edward Cullen."

His posture stiffens, and his face turns a kind of blotchy white/red/green. Holy shit, he's going to burst a blood vessel. I should call Carlisle. Where the fuck is my cell phone? Should I call the hospital or try to reach him through Edward? Maybe I should just call 911.

"Dad?"

He stays very still for a moment and then mutters, "I need to call your mother," before he walks away into the kitchen. Okay.

From my position in the hallway, I can't hear what Mom's saying, for the most part, but there's a lot of hushed angriness on Dad's side of the conversation. I can't catch it all, but he's saying things like "you can't be serious," "this is ridiculous," and something that sounded an awful lot like "what the hell is wrong with you?"

Eventually it goes quiet in the kitchen, and a few moments later Dad comes back into the hallway.

"Your mother wants to speak to you." And then he walks into the living room.

With a sigh I head to the phone.

"Mom?"

"_Bella!"_

"Hi."

"_I hear you have a date. When did this happen, and why the hell did I have to hear it from a secondary source?"_

"Today, Edward asked me out today, and I was going to tell you myself, but Dad beat me to it."

"_You told him first."_ It's definitely an accusation.

"His possible reaction had a lot more, um... presence, I guess, in my mind, so I was really focusing on that."

"_My little girl's finally going on a date."_

"Yep."

"_Do you know what this means, Isabella?"_

"You're going to make me sit through another sex talk?"

"_No! You're getting me a picture. No arguments. I expect it to show up in my inbox by Wednesday at the latest."_

"Mom," I whine.

"_I am doing long-distance battle with every protective instinct Charlie has for the sake of your relationship. That's not easy, and it's certainly not free. As your mother I have the right to make superficial judgments about the boy you like, and force you to listen to them. How am I supposed to do that if I don't even know what he looks like?"_

"Alright, I'll get you a picture, but under no circumstances are you to contact him without talking to me first. Do not call him."

"_If he's going to be your boyfriend I'm going to have to talk to him."_

"Yes, but you're going to talk to me about it first, and I will connect you, okay? No surprise attacks."

"_I resent the word 'attack.'"_

"Mom."

"_Fine, I promise. As long as I get the picture on or before Wednesday night I'll leave the boy alone."_

"Are you blackmailing me? I feel like you're blackmailing me."

"_Call it what you want."_

"I'm going to go with blackmail."

"_If you wish. I have to go, but I'll talk to you soon, alright?"_

"Okay. Bye, Mom."

"_Bye."_

Now I really do have to get her a picture.

The phone rings a few minutes later, while I'm getting stuff ready for dinner. It's Mrs. Millner again, and she wants to talk to Dad.

"Dad?" I call hesitantly, sticking my head into the living room.

"Yeah."

"Mrs. Millner's on the phone for you."

He grimaces and says, "Uh, tell her I'm busy."

"Who is she?"

"She lives across the street."

He follows me into the kitchen and stands awkwardly by the counter while I get her off the phone.

"You're avoiding her?" I ask once I hang up.

"She's a bit of a busybody. Usually I try to be polite, but I'm really not in the mood. What did your mother say?"

"She wants a picture of him."

Dad rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Our daughter's dating a juvenile delinquent, and she wants a picture. That mother of yours is a real pain in my ass."

"I think she has that effect on everybody from time to time."

He grunts before saying, "I'm not going to forbid you, because I've been told that's the worst thing I could do, but I'm not happy about this."

"I know."

"How about he comes over for dinner or something before this... _date_?"

"I think that would be a good idea." Maybe, possibly.

"Okay, then." As he's walking past me out of the kitchen he pauses and plants a kiss on my forehead before he continues on out of the room.

**A/N****: **Addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads are on my profile page.


	21. Vampires vs Pirates and Other Clashing T

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net) and Feisty Y. Beden (FFn and Ravelry).

**Vampires vs Pirates and Other Clashing Things**

I make a noise somewhere between a snarl and a grunt, which actually kind of hurts my throat, as I crack an eye open to glare at my nightstand. Something is making a noise, a very annoying noise, and it needs to shut the fuck up. Stupid cell phone.

"What?" I bark into the phone.

"_We're really going to have to work on your greeting skills,"_ Edward says.

"I was sleeping."

"_I thought you might be, but I had to call. It's sunny out."_

"Did you call to tell me that?" I interrupt.

"_Yes."_ When did he become evil?

"I'm going to hurt you." And then I hang up. I've still got twenty minutes until my alarm goes off, but before I can get back to sleep my phone rings again.

"Fuck off."

He laughs. _"You do realize I'm allergic to the sun, right?"_

"Huh?" Why won't he just let me sleep? Why is he being mean to me?

"_I can't drive you to school today, Bella. I'm staying home."_

"Oh, okay."

"_So, you need to find someone else to drive you."_

"Right."

"_Do you still want me to fuck off?"_

"Well if you're going to be all smug about it then yes, yes I do."

"_You forgot again. If you were photosensitive I wouldn't forget."_

"I didn't forget anything. I'm just really tired. You woke me up."

"_Whatever makes you feel better."_

"You know what? I'm going to start calling you SWCIFD again. I hope you're happy, Edward."

"_You just called me Edward."_

"Shit. Shut up. I'm going back to sleep." I hang up again, and then it starts to ring _again_. My hand sweeps sideways, and my phone, along with a bunch of other crap, clatters to the floor, but it still keeps ringing. Evil sort-of-boyfriend person. I bury my head under my pillow and form a vague plan that involves me inflicting some manner of pain on Edward, before I fall asleep again.

00000

I get halfway through breakfast before my brain finally starts working. I need an alternative ride to school. Angie doesn't drive, and there's no way I'm asking one of the guys while they're still waiting for an answer, so short of randomly calling someone I barely know there's just Jess. I probably should've clarified exactly what "time" means. Does she want time away from me or just time away from the topic of Edward?

She never actually said she didn't want to see me, and she did say we were friends, and I _really_ don't want to have to call Mike for a ride. I'm sure it'll be fine.

Now, where the fuck is my phone?

00000

"So..." I say, letting it trail off in the awkward atmosphere of Jess's car. "Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it."

"Yeah, no problem." She nods, then I nod, and then it gets quiet again.

"Looks like it'll be a nice day," Jess says.

"Sunny."

"Too bad it's not warm."

"Well you know, January..."

"Yeah."

"Yep." Smooth. "So, at the risk of totally violating the spirit of the agreement, how's that whole _time_ thing going?"

Jess lets out a deep breath and taps her fingers against the steering wheel. "I had a dream last night that vampires were trying to eat my soul."

"Not good then."

"I don't know. I think it ended on a pretty positive note. They were all trying to get at me, and I kept hitting them with my shoe, but it wasn't really working. Then all these pirates showed up and started stabbing them."

"Oh. Well, that sounds... good?"

"I guess. Of course I did watch _Pirates of the Caribbean_ last night, so that may have had something to do with it."

"That seems like a definite possibility. Did the pirates win?"

"Yeah."

"Really? I mean I get that maybe it's a metaphor or whatever, but pirates aren't even supernatural."

"Apparently the ones in the Caribbean are."

"Are we talking about skeletons-in-the-moonlight kind of pirates?" I ask. "Because that's a whole different situation."

"I don't know. There wasn't a moon. We were in a shoe store."

"What? Vampires versus pirates showdown in a_ shoe store?_"

"I cannot be held responsible for my subconscious, and I happen to like shoe stores."

"I guess you could've staked them with high heels, but I still think vampires would kick pirates' asses, even if they were Caribbean pirates."

"You're just saying that because you want to do one," she says with a laugh.

I make a noise somewhere between a snort and a gasp before I reply, "I do not _want to do one_. I just happen to think that vampires are drastically more awesome."

"You totally do."

"Whatever, those pirates are totally skeevy."

"But they're all bone." Her expression starts out playful, but quickly morphs into horror.

I burst out laughing. "Eww."

"I can't believe I said that."

"Me neither. I never realized you were such a pervert."

She gives me the evil eye. "So, are you going to tell them?"

"Tell who what?"

"Tell those guys who asked you out that you won't be going to the dance with any of them."

"Oh, them."

"Yeah."

"I guess I'll have to at some point, but I don't have a plan."

"I kind of want to watch. Does that make me a horrible person?"

"Maybe. I guess it depends on how much you enjoy it."

"I don't know that I'll enjoy it, but I think it would be nice to know that I'm not the only one that feels screwed over. Plus I think I took it better than they will, so it might make me feel like I'm a better friend than they are."

"Do you really think it's going to be bad?" I ask.

"I think it'll be like me, but with male pride, direct rejection, and a not-so-friendly competition - times three."

"That sounds bad."

I am so not ready to deal with this.

00000

"I bet they wouldn't have even noticed, but she had to go yelling about it to Mom, and now I have to pay to have it replaced," Mike says, stabbing French fries into a puddle of ketchup. "She should have to pay for some of it, at least half."

"But you broke it," Angie says.

"But she started it. She's evil. She's like a little high-pitched demon."

"I'm so glad I'm an only child," I add.

"Me too," Jess replies. "My family is annoying enough as it is, and I only have my parents to deal with."

"I like my brothers," Angie says quietly.

"Maybe your siblings aren't evil. I'm living with Rosemary's baby."

"I thought your mom's name is Louise," Eric says. Mike just stares at him.

"It's a movie, dude," Tyler says with a laugh.

"Whatever."

Once the table lapses into silence I start to get the urge to turn around. It's silly because I know Edward's not coming to school today, so the only thing I would see would be exactly what I saw when I came into the cafeteria: an empty table. But I haven't talked to him since this morning, and there hasn't been much sun for about an hour, so maybe he's going to show up. Maybe he's already here. But he would call me if he was going to come in, wouldn't he? No, why would he? It's not like he gives me hourly updates on his life. That would be really annoying.

He could be here. He might be sitting behind me just waiting for me to turn around and finally figure out that he's here. Nope, still empty. What is wrong with me?

"Has anyone heard if the Valentine's dance has a theme this year?" Did Jess seriously just say the V-word?

"I would assume it's the same as always. You know... red, pink, hearts," Angie answers uneasily.

"Yeah, I was just wondering if they were doing something different. I remember someone talking about having people dress up as famous couples this year. I think it's a pretty cool idea, but you've really got to lock down your date early, for the extra planning. Of course that's kind of the same with regular dances, because if you wait too long you risk ending up dateless."

Motherfucking traitor.

After a few moments of tense silence Jess blurts out, "Bella's going out with Edward." What the fuck?

"That was loud," I hiss.

"Sorry," she mutters quietly.

"What do you mean?" Mike asks.

I sigh and glare at Jess before saying, "Edward asked me out yesterday, and I said yes. We're going out on Saturday."

"Did you lose a bet?"Eric asks.

"No. I happen to like him."

"Like a friend?"

"No... well, yes, but... I _like_ him, alright?"

"But why?" Tyler asks.

"He's never cornered me in the hallway and embarrassed me in front of everyone, for one."

"I was just trying to ask you to the dance. They're the ones that made it a big spectacle," Mike says defensively.

"You're the one that violated the plan. If you hadn't done that there wouldn't have been any witnesses," Tyler says.

"That doesn't sound creepy at all," Jess mutters.

"Why would you bring this up?" I ask her.

"I can't believe you're going on a date with Edward Cullen," Mike says.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just _really_ wanted to," Jess says to me.

"Does this mean you're going to the Valentine's dance with him?" Eric asks.

"You're really all over the place with this, huh?" I ask her.

"It's two months away; they may break up before that," Tyler says.

"I'm feeling very conflicted. It's like on one hand you're Bella, my friend, and I want it to be alright. I want to want you to be happy."

"It's not like they're dating - they haven't even gone out yet," Mike says.

"But on the other hand you're Bella, the new girl who somehow managed to get the attention of the guy I've been unsuccessfully trying to get to look me in the eye for years. I want to say some very nasty things to you and maybe rip out a noticeably large chunk of your hair." Yikes.

"Jess has been trying to get into that guy's pants practically since he got here, and he hasn't even noticed. I bet he's gay."

"Fuck off, Mike. He's not gay," Jess shrieks. "Anyway, these two sides are battling it out Ultimate Fighter style, and there's blood _all_ over the place. It's not pretty."

"No, I would imagine not," I reply. She did say she needed time, and I did say I would give it to her. In the meantime, I may need to invest in some heavy-duty duct tape. Probably a bit late for that though.

00000

I wander back downstairs and into the living room, setting my homework stuff down on the coffee table. I'm just about to turn around when someone grabs me from behind. I scream and flail. My elbow connects with their stomach, and we fall backwards onto the ground with an "oomph" sound.

"Ow! Christ, Bella."

"Edward?" I crane my neck around, trying to get a look at him while pretty much sitting in his lap.

"Hey."

"What the fuck?" I shout.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" he asks with a smirk.

"You scared the shit out of me."

"What, so you only like me when I don't scare you? That seems very shallow."

"You didn't knock," I state, attempting to maintain some calm.

"The door was open."

"You mean unlocked?"

"Yes."

"If you'd knocked, you wouldn't have known that."

"Are you saying you're _not_ happy to see me?"

"You're still in trouble for waking me up this morning, and you're only making it worse."

"I called you for a reason. I explained this."

"Yes, _this time_, but if I do something like thank you or be reasonable about it, then you're going to think it's okay another time. It's a slippery slope. They had an assembly about it in school."

"I think that was probably about weed."

"It might have been. I wasn't really listening."

He laughs and squeezes the arm he has around my waist. "You're adorable."

"…and terrifying."

"Of course, you're adorably terrifying."

"But more terrifying than adorable, right?"

"Definitely. I fear for my life almost constantly."

"Well, alright then." I tap him on the arm, but he doesn't move to let me up.

"Esme was bored today, so she made tarts. I have no idea what's in them, but I've eaten about six," he says.

"Congratulations?"

"I brought you some. Actually I stole them when Esme was out of the kitchen, but Emmett will probably be blamed, so it's fine."

"You're such a good brother."

"Emmett once accidentally knocked over a candle and lit a curtain on fire. I got blamed for it. This is like karma, but more delicious."

"Mmhmm… so where are they?"

"On the little table in the hallway."

"You're going to need to let me up now," I say, tapping his arm a little harder this time.

"You'd rather eat mystery tarts than sit here with me?"

"Yes."

"Ouch."

I peck him on the cheek before jumping up and scurrying into the hallway.

"Some of those are for me!" Edward shouts after me.

"You've already had six!" I yell back, grabbing the container off the table.

"There are more than six there! You have to share." I can hear him get up and start moving around in the other room, getting closer.

"No, I don't!" And then I make a break for the stairs.

"Bella!" And then he starts running after me. He's actually pretty fast. This may not have been a good idea. I just need to get off the stairs before he grabs me, or this could end very badly, fall-down-the-stairs-and-crack-both-our-heads-open badly.

It may just be paranoia, but I feel like he's right behind me as I reach the top of the stairs. Clutching the container to my chest, I sprint to my bedroom with only a minor collision with the doorframe on the way. I make it into the room before he grabs me from behind again, and I scream again, but this time I can't elbow him because I'm not letting go of these tarts.

Luckily we fall on my bed instead of the floor, but the edge of the container digs into my stomach when we land.

"Hand them over," he demands.

"No!"

I hold it underneath me, pressed against my stomach while my body curves around it. Edward's fingers keep jabbing and pressing and tickling my sides, trying to get me to roll over and let go.

I bet this is what turtles' shells feel like when predators are trying to get at their insides. It's possible I just yelled something like that at Edward, but I'm fairly certain he didn't understand me, because my voice is kind of muffled by my sheets and I'm laughing so hard I'm shaking.

There's a lot of shrieking and yelling going on, and I'm kind of worried the neighbours are going to think somebody's being murdered.

Suddenly he stops moving, and I tighten my hold on the container. I think he might be trying to trick me.

"You know we've created a deadlock, right?" he says between heavy breaths.

"I do _not_ know that," I reply stubbornly.

"As long as you keep holding that box so that I can't get them, you can't get them. So the only way you're going to get any is if you share."

"I can wait you out. You'll have to go to the bathroom or something at some point, and my dad's going to be home after six."

"So you're going to stay like that for two more hours?"

"Yes," I say, peeking out of the corner of my eye to look at him.

"Did I say terrifying earlier? Because I meant crazy."

"I need them more than you do." I give him a look that I hope conveys something like _don't argue with me_, but he makes a snorting noise so I don't think it was very effective. Clearly glaring him into submission is not an option here. "I have made a decision."

"Which is?"

"I will share with you _if_ you promise never to miss school again."

"Did you miss me?"

"Do you promise or not?"

"I can't come to school when it's sunny. There's no choice involved."

"I could get you a parasol," I offer. He seems to be genuinely offended. "What? It wouldn't have to be pretty and lacy."

"I don't care if it's got pictures of shotguns and beer cans; I'm not walking around with anything called a _parasol_."

"What about a golf umbrella? Those are big, you can get them in solid colours like black or navy blue, and they're sports related. They're very manly."

"No."

"You won't even think about it?"

"Why are we talking about this?"

"Because then you wouldn't have to miss school."

"Right, but I have to say I really don't mind not having to go to school every once and a while. Why do you have a problem with it?" He drops onto his side next to me, his chest pressing against the side of my arm.

"Everybody knows," I say.

"Knows?"

"Knows that we're going on a date."

"Did you make an announcement or something?"

"No, but Jess did, in the middle of the cafeteria."

"Oh."

"Yeah, I don't think she's entirely okay with this yet. Actually I don't think any of them are, except Angie. It was awkward."

"I'm sorry," he says quietly, running his fingers through my hair.

"Not your fault." I roll to the side, leaving the container between us. I think I have dents in my stomach from the ridges on the lid.

"It kind of is, actually. I used to act out a lot. I was a jackass, and most people still think I am."

"You're not a jackass."

"But I was. Accidentally burning down a building really puts a person's actions into perspective. Also it made Esme cry a lot, and Carlisle had this whole supportive but _really_ disappointed thing going, and then doing stupid things just didn't seem as fun anymore." He peels off the top of the container and hands me one of the somewhat broken tarts. "I think they have raisins in them."

I take it and sniff at the filling before nibbling on the edge. "I'm glad you're not a jackass anymore."

"Me too."

I'm on my second tart when Edward asks, "Did you say something about turtles earlier?"

"No," I deny immediately.

He looks at me suspiciously like he knows I'm lying.

"Now who's crazy?" I mutter. He's totally not buying it.

"Is it an Arizona thing?" he asks.

"What?"

"The thing you said about turtles."

"I didn't say anything about turtles."

"Yes, you did. It was something like _turtles sell…_"

"That doesn't even make sense," I mutter, breaking my tart into bite-size pieces. I'm going to have crumbs all over my bed.

"I'm going to find out what you said."

"What are you going to do, google 'Arizona turtle sells'? I'm sure that'll be productive."

"I'll get it out of you eventually."

"You're not as coercive as you think."

"I got you to share with me," he says in this really annoying gloaty voice.

"I just felt sorry for you because you're such a jackass. They're pity tarts."

"You turned my apology tarts into pity tarts?"

"Why are you blaming me? You're the one that's pitiable… piteous?"

"Pitiful? I think you used _coercive_ the wrong way too."

"I did not."

"_You're not as coercive as you think,"_ he repeats.

"It's a sentence."

"I don't think you're supposed to use _coercive_ that way."

"It's totally a legitimate use of the word. You have no word authority! You're not a dictionary!" I think these might be crack tarts.

"And you're not a turtle that sells felt-like procedures that are tying up their insides." I can only stare. Did Edward just have a stroke? "I swear to God that's what you said."

"No, I didn't. That doesn't even make sense."

"Really, that's your defence? You just accused me of not being a _dictionary_. How does _that_ make sense?"

"Well you were acting an awful lot like one. All high and mighty, telling me how to use words like you make all the rules."

"I think at this point it's pretty safe to say we're both crazy."

"I blame the tarts. I think they have drugs in them."

"No, they don't. Even if this was some alternate universe where _Esme_ baked drugs into tarts I doubt she would leave them lying around in the kitchen where some wayward teenager could steal them all."

Maybe the problem is Edward. I think he causes me to act crazier than usual, and it seems to get worse the more attracted to him I become. He's like kryptonite for my brain.

"Why are you smiling at me like that?" Edward asks suspiciously.

"I'm not smiling at you like anything."

"Yes, you are."

"No."

"No?"

"No. I'm not even smiling."

"I have eyes, you know. I can see."

"I did know, but thanks for the reminder," I mutter, sticking my tongue out at him. "Speaking of eyes, I need to take your picture." I get up and walk over to my dresser to get my camera.

"What does that have to do with eyes?" he asks as he rolls onto his back.

"Pictures are for seeing… with your eyes."

"That's a really awkward segue."

"It made perfect sense. Are you going to help me with this picture or not?"

"I'm ready when you are," he says, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Edward, I can't send my mom a picture of you lying on my bed. We have to go downstairs."

"Oh, so now you want to make me take a picture _and_ get up. That's asking for a lot, especially after pity tarts and calling me a dictionary. Words hurt, Bella." He makes this little pouty face that I roll my eyes at.

"I said you're _not_ a dictionary," I reply, crossing my arms across my chest. He just looks at me. "Thank you for the completely pity-free tarts." No response. "You're pretty." He smirks, but doesn't move. "If we don't get this picture to my mom we may not be able to go out on Saturday."

He grimaces and sighs. "Fine."

"Good."

"But come here first," he says, holding out a hand.

"Why?"

"Just come here."

I comply, placing my camera on the bedside table before taking his hand. He tugs me down onto the bed next to him. This seems counterproductive to my goal of getting him downstairs.

"What's going on?" I ask, wiggling around to get more comfortable against his side.

"We are alone in the house, on your bed, if I don't at least _try_ to kiss you I may have to start questioning my own sexuality."

"I see."

"Which could be awkward. I'd rather not be gay, because I _really_ like you." He squeezes my hand lightly, and I fight not to giggle like an idiot.

"You're probably straight then."

"I hope so. I really don't like men that much."

I have the urge to say something back. Amidst the joking about being gay – and yet he won't even discuss _golf umbrellas_ because of vague parasol connotations – he did say something sweet. It would only be polite to return the sentiment, polite and true. On the other hand making an honest announcement about my feelings would be awkward right now.

"I hope you're not gay, too." That's basically the same thing.

"Well then, we should definitely make out right now," he says, running his fingers up my arm.

I laugh. "Your idea of logic seems to be very similar to mine."

"Mine's better; it involves kissing."

"It certainly involves _talking_ about kissing."

His eyes narrow at me, and one eyebrow goes up.

"I guess we'll have to fix that."

He takes hold of my head, with his hands under my ears this time, and pulls my mouth to his. Because he's on his back and I'm on my side both of our necks are straining to reach, but then he shifts onto his side, and it's so much better. This feels different, more intense. We're actually alone instead of somewhere potentially public, and we're lying down. Plus Edward is on my fucking bed. This is an entirely new kind of relationship for me, and it's terrifying and exciting and just… I don't even know. I think I would have to make up a word to properly express exactly what it is, but Edward is kissing me, and his hand is on my hips, and his chest is pressed against mine, and I think my brain is dying so there's no way I can come up with something right now. It'd probably just be some kind of inarticulate squealing noise anyway.

I wrap my hand around his arm, pulling him closer, as his grip tightens on my hip. I should've just kissed him the first day we met. It would've saved us a lot of time. I know I didn't really like him at first, but at the moment I find it almost impossible to understand why. He's great, and attractive, and I like his lips.

I start laughing softly against his mouth, because I am seriously out of my mind right now.

"What?" Edward asks.

"I think I have some kind of brain infection that's making me crazy."

"You're not going to start talking about water poisoning again, are you?"

"No, that's not what I mean."

"Do you mean like syphilis?"

"I don't have _syphilis_," I reply defensively.

"I said _like_ syphilis," he corrects.

"Oh. Well, maybe." This might be normal. This might be a thing that the brains of teenage girls do when they like a boy. On the other hand this might be a sign that my brain is rotting from the inside out. I should definitely look into this. Maybe I could ask Alice.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" I ask.

"Will your dad be here?"

"Yes."

"Then no," he says, kissing me quickly.

"He wants you to come for dinner before Saturday, and I think we should get it over with. If it goes really badly then the rest of the week will be like a buffer zone between that badness and our date." He hesitates. "I'll have dinner ready for when he gets home, something quick, and then you can go and it'll be over."

"Does it have to start at all?"

"I really want my dad to be okay with us going out, and I think this might help."

"So why do we need a buffer zone? We could do it Wednesday, or Thursday, or Friday. Friday is a good day to get things done."

"I _think_ it'll be fine, but there is some potential for disaster, and I think it would be a good idea to factor in a few days for people to calm down, just in case."

"You're really not making me less nervous."

"My mom is on our side. He can't prevent me from going without having to deal with her, and he wants to avoid that. I will still want to go, even if this dinner doesn't go well. It's just dinner. You don't even have to make small talk; just be polite and eat. That's all I'm asking."

"Okay," he says reluctantly. He's quiet for a moment before he asks, "You don't really think he'd kill me, do you?"

"No," I answer quickly. "But if he did, I'd be really angry with him. He'd have some serious grovelling to do." He scowls at me. "I'm sure they have lots of Playboy Bunnies in heaven."

"Not the really fun ones." He makes this adorable exaggerated pouty face, and I move forward to kiss his downturned lips. He responds automatically, and his hand moves from my hip to my neck. We both try to get closer, and our hips press together. Things are pressing. Things that are… _things_. His breath hitches, and we both freeze, staring at each other wide eyed. Out of our element would be an understatement.

"Maybe we should go downstairs," I suggest.

"Yeah."

I disentangle myself as my entire face gets hot. Grabbing the camera I head into the hallway.

"Definitely not gay," he calls after me.

"Good to know," I respond shakily. I can't stop smiling as I start down the stairs.

00000

"You look like a future serial killer," I mutter, looking down at the camera display.

Edward sighs. "Are we done?"

"No, just… try to look like a normal person. Smile or something."

"I _am_ smiling."

"You're smiling weird."

"I don't like taking pictures," he says, clearly frustrated.

"You're hopeless," I announce, flopping down onto the couch.

"I can't just stand there and look normal - it's an unnatural situation." He sits down next to me with his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing against my shoulder.

"We need a picture."

"I can ask Esme if she has any good ones. I wouldn't get your hopes up though."

"So you knew you photographed like a future serial killer and you didn't tell me? That would've been good to know."

"Well I didn't know you'd be so picky."

"I don't think trying to avoid giving my mother the impression that you're aspiring to a career of murder is being 'picky.'"

"I could put on a hardhat if you think that would throw her off my true career aspirations."

"Do you have one with you?"

"It's my go-to for trying to hide my serial killer-ness," he replies with a smirk. I get the picture before he even realizes I'm aiming the camera. "What did you do?"

"I took your picture. It's a good picture. You don't look like a serial killer or a construction worker." Success. I'm not sure sending Mom a picture of Edward being all smirky is the best idea, but I don't think I'm going to get a better one.

"You're a sneaky one."

"It's for a good cause, and you're welcome."

"Maybe you should send it to Esme too. I don't think she believes a good picture of me is possible." I smile, but stay silent. He looks kind of… flirty in it. I doubt it's the kind of picture he wants his family getting their hands on. I'm definitely going to keep a copy though.

"So, I've done the picture, and dinner is imminent. Are there any other tasks I need to complete before Saturday?" Edward asks.

"I think that's it. Given how fond of you my father is, I think you got off easy."

"You don't have anything you want to throw at me? No tasks or challenges? Nothing you want me to retrieve from the top of a mountain or maybe the cave of a bear?"

"How about you figure out what we're doing for this date."

"I was thinking dinner and a movie. I know that's pretty basic, but we can do something else if you want…"

"That sounds good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

We're smiling at each other when I hear Dad's car pull into the driveway. We both tense up.

"It'll be fine," I say, but I've got butterflies flapping around in my stomach.

"Bella?" Dad calls from the front hall.

"In here."

I can hear him moving around in the other room for a few moments before he comes into the living room. He doesn't seem particularly happy to see Edward.

"Hey, Dad."

"Hello." He pauses slightly before saying, "Edward."

"Chief."

"Edward is staying for dinner. Is that alright?"

"Sure, yeah."

"Great, well dinner's pretty much ready, so you can go change out of your uniform… put on some normal clothes, and I'll finish up."

"You want to eat _now_?" Dad asks.

"In a few minutes."

"It's not even seven."

"I'm pretty hungry, and Edward has a thing he has to do at home, so…"

"We could do this another time if you're busy, Edward. Some night when you've got more time." I'm pretty sure he's trying not to smile at the panicked look on Edward's face.

"Oh no. I've, um… I've got time for dinner. I just can't really stick around afterward. I mean I'd like to, but I have a… thing I have to do."

Dad seems amused as he looks at the two of us before he heads upstairs.

"It was a lot easier to talk to your dad when I didn't care what he thought of me. Now he has this power over me. All of a sudden he seems really scary."

"It's going to be fine. Can you get the stuff out of the oven for me, please?" I ask.

"Sure."

Edward goes into the kitchen, and I go upstairs to wait in the hall outside Dad's bedroom. He comes out a few moments later dressed _mostly_ normally.

"Bells?"

"I know you don't really like him, but can you just… be nice tonight?"

"Of course I'm going to be nice."

"You're still wearing your gun holster."

"But the gun is in its box."

"_Dad_."

He sighs and looks exasperated with me, but he does leave the holster in his room.

00000

"So, you got it?"

"_Yes, I did."_ Mom sounds smug.

"Okay."

"_It's worse than I thought."_

"What? Why?"

"_He is _very_ cute. I mean... if I was twenty years younger I might actually, very briefly, consider hopping on a plane and attempting to steal him."_

I'm not entirely sure how I'm supposed to respond to my mother telling me she's attracted to my boyfriend-type person, so I blurt out the first thing that comes into my head. "If you were twenty years younger I wouldn't be born." Because clearly that's very relevant to the conversation.

"_Obviously in this hypothetical we're not related, or at least I'm not your mother. Maybe we're cousins... or sisters, we could be sisters, but that has nothing to do with anything. My point is I'd do him, hypothetically."_

"That's very possibly the most disturbing thing you've ever said to me."

"_I find that hard to believe."_

"Well anyway, Edward came for his pre-date dinner tonight."

"_And did he leave intact?"_

"Yeah. It was… polite, maybe on the extreme side of polite."

"_So, silent?"_

"There was some awkward small talk that broke up the silence nicely."

"_Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry it didn't go better."_

"Well, I'm not certain that Dad's opinion got any better, but I'm pretty sure it didn't get worse, so that's something. I know he's not happy about it, but he seems to be accepting it, grudgingly. It probably would've gone better if they'd had something to talk about."

"_Edward isn't into sports?"_

"I don't think so."

"_Well give your father time. I'm sure he'll come around."_

"I hope so."

"_He will; you'll see."_

"I'd rather just keep them apart. It would make things so much simpler."

She sighs at me._ "What are you going to wear on this date?"_

"I haven't really thought about it. It's only Tuesday."

"_But you should plan ahead. First impressions are very important, Bella."_

"Mom, we've already met."

"_Of course you have, but I'm talking about his first impression of Date Bella."_

"What are you talking about?"

"_Well this isn't just hanging out. This is a date. It's completely different, honey. You need to be prepared to bring out Date Bella."_

"Oh." Well now I'm really nervous. I don't even know who Date Bella is.

**A/N: **Addresses for this story's Twilighted and Ravelry threads are on my profile page.


	22. Poodle Skirts and Exceptional Buttons

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net) and Feisty Y. Beden (FFn and Ravelry).

**Poodle Skirts and Exceptional Buttons**

Mom said I should pick out what I'm going to wear ahead of time. She said it would make it less stressful to get ready. She said I'd probably be nervous enough as it is, so I should try to be as prepared as possible. I agreed, but I didn't do it. I kept putting it off, because I didn't want to deal with it yet. I didn't want to have to figure out who the hell Date Bella is and what she'd like to wear. Now there's no _ahead of time_ left.

I'm still not entirely clear what Date Bella is. Is this some kind of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde thing? Is it a hormonal thing? This would've been an excellent topic for sex ed, because I'm fairly certain that knowing what a vas deferens is has little to no practical application in my life.

Oh my God, I can't do this. I'm not mentally prepared for this. Why does this have to be a date? I'm fine spending time with Edward; I look forward to it even, but call it a _date_ and all of a sudden I'm standing in front of my closet full of dread and anxiety, thirty seconds away from yelling something terribly cliché like _I have nothing to wear_. I really don't have anything to wear though.

My closet only has Regular Bella clothing. Why can't this be a Regular Bella thing? That would be so much simpler, but instead it's a big deal. It's all very official. This is a date. We'll be _dating_.

I'm pretty sure this is one of those times you're supposed to stick your head between your knees before you hyperventilate yourself unconscious. So I do. There may be some mild rocking as well.

I'm being silly. This is clearly an overly extreme reaction. I may be going on a date, my first date, but it's with _Edward_. I know Edward. I like Edward. Edward likes me, and I'm sure that he won't stop just because I'm too much like me. That doesn't even make sense.

Fuck it. He said it would be basic. I'm wearing jeans.

00000

I figure I've still got a good twenty minutes, just enough time to properly freak out and then calm down one last time before I have to leave. Then the doorbell rings. I freeze. He's early. Who the fuck shows up _early_? That's just... it's... oh my God. I'm pretty sure I'm experiencing that twenty minute freak out condensed down into less than a minute. I think this is what it might feel like to be punched in the stomach, except instead of a fist I'm being assaulted by feelings. I swear to God if Edward turns me into some kind of emo kid I'm going to bludgeon him with something really fucking heavy.

I realize my mistake when I hear the front door creak open. I hesitated, and now Dad is alone with Edward. This is so very not good.

Hastily I grab my stuff and race downstairs. I don't slow down enough for the landing and end up hip-checking the railing, but the only thing my brain really registers is _hunting rifle_. Son of a bitch.

"Dad!" I think my voice just hit a whole new register.

"What?" I'm sure he's trying to sound innocent, but it's a little tricky to pull off when you've got a large gun at your side.

"Again with the guns?"

"I was cleaning it." He's not even trying.

"You better not be _cleaning it_ when we get back."

"Just don't be late. I want you home by midnight." This morning he said eleven, but I'm not going to remind him. He must notice my confusion though. "Your mother called."

I'm going to have to get her something really nice for her birthday.

I finally turn to Edward and smile. He's in jeans and a non-t-shirt too.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"I'll see you later, Dad," I say as I walk past him onto the small front porch. As much as I'd like to kiss Edward, I feel way too self-conscious with Dad standing in the open door behind me. Instead we start walking towards his car.

"You look nice. I like the red things," he says, pointing at my top.

"They're flowers."

"I like them."

"Thank you. Your shirt has buttons."

He looks down at himself and touches a button with his fingers. "Yeah, well it pretty much just hangs open without them, which is kind of awkward in public settings."

"Right… I like them."

"You like my buttons?"

"Yep." Date Bella is an idiot. I laugh at myself and say, "They're exceptional buttons."

"Good. I imagine button quality is very important in button-down shirts."

"Well, sure."

Presumably this is Date Edward, who seems to be exactly like normal Edward but with a nicer shirt and bonus awkward conversation.

"You're early," I blurt out.

He shuffles a bit and runs his hand through his hair. "I know. I didn't plan to be, but Emmett kept trying to tell me his foolproof method of getting to second base on the first date, and then Alice tried to attack me with hair gel, so I figured it was probably time to leave. If you need more time, I can wait." He nervously glances back at Dad looming in the doorway.

"No, I'm ready."

"Okay. Should we go, then?" he asks, waving a hand towards his car.

"Sure."

We silently walk the rest of the way to the car, and share a slightly strained smile once we're both seated.

When he pulls away from my house he drives the speed limit, and keeps it up all the way down the street. Date Edward is strange and law-abiding. I'm not sure I like this whole alternate business. Date Bella is giving me a stomach ache.

As soon as we get around the corner, he pulls over to the side of the road.

"Is something wrong? Did obeying the speed limit send your car into shock?"

"My car is fine, smartass. I think we should start again. This hasn't been ideal. Maybe we could try something less terrifying."

"I can't believe he did that. I'm really sorry."

"Well, on the plus side I didn't piss myself, so I think I look pretty good, bravery-wise. On the negative side I didn't get to kiss you. That's mainly the part I want to redo."

My body blushes and smiles and does some coy fluttery eyelash thing completely without my mind's permission. Traitor.

"Hmm… I'm not sure kissing is allowed on the first date, at least not until the end."

"Oh no?"

I shake my head solemnly.

"Are you sure there isn't a loophole for people who have already kissed?"

"I'm afraid I don't have my copy of the official guidelines on me at the moment."

"Then I guess you'll have to make a judgment call."

"You can't just play fast and loose with the rules, Edward. What kind of a girl do you think I am?"

"Well you did let me kiss you in a school bathroom."

"If you're trying to convince me to kiss you, you're not doing very well," I say. "And for the record, you're the kind of guy that follows girls into school bathrooms and kisses them, and I think that's worse. It may even be illegal."

"I don't think it's illegal."

"Guys going into the girls' bathroom?"

"I realize we're not supposed to be there, but I don't think entering the bathroom is illegal," he argues.

"This isn't what we were meant to be talking about. This was really just a secondary point."

"The main point being that we've already kissed, so there's no reason to pretend that we're starting from scratch, progress-wise."

"That was _your_ point."

"Right, your point was that you don't want to kiss me."

"No," I say immediately.

"You _do_ want to kiss me?"

"Of course I do," I respond automatically. Shit.

"Then why are we talking about this?" he asks with a smug little grin. Why _are_ we talking about this?

"What did you just do?" He completely turned the conversation around. I think Date Edward is a hypnotist or something.

"I don't know, but I'm pretty sure you have to kiss me now."

I briefly consider coming up with some way to stall him further, but really, why the fuck were we talking about it in the first place?

"That would probably be for the best, if only to keep you from pulling any more mind tricks on me."

"Yes, you should definitely do all you can to prevent me from speaking. I suggest kissing." The look on his face is a little obnoxious, but somehow still cute. I really think Date Edward has magical powers. Maybe that's to counteract the fact that Date Bella is an idiot who compliments buttons and tries to talk cute boys out of kissing her.

"So fucking smug," I mutter, before leaning towards him and pulling on his coat.

"I think I've earned it." And then he kisses me.

It feels just like my non-date kisses with non-Date Edward. For a moment I can pretend I'm not a nervous wreck striking out into new social territory. It's nice. I mean, the feeling of normalcy is nice. The kiss is great. Although the seatbelt starts to dig into my chest, so I blindly try to press the damn release button, unsuccessfully. Edward bats my hand away and does it for me, and then his hand ends up on my face again. I think he might have a thing for touching my face. Is that something people have a thing about? Some kind of tactile face fetish?

We keep moving closer, shifting and rearranging to eliminate as much distance as we can. I think I might hate cars. It's very frustrating trying to kiss in them. Horse and buggies may be slow, but there's pretty much no chance that you'll bang your knee on a gear shifter, and that really hurts.

Edward gets even closer, because he's finally undone his seatbelt, but when his arm flails out to get rid of it his hand hits the horn. I practically jump away from him at the sudden blaring noise.

"Okay, I really don't think _that_ is on the approved list of first date activities," I say.

"That's not what Emmett says," he replies with a small smile.

"So what was Emmett's method?"

He shrugs the question off and dismissively says, "I don't know. It's stupid."

"You just don't want me to know the signs to look for."

He laughs and shakes his head. "No, I just wasn't really listening. I think it was something about smouldering looks and crooked smiles."

"Smouldering looks, huh?"

"But I figure, given my history with fire, that may come off as a little threatening."

"I'm fairly certain he didn't mean for you to look at me like you want to light me on fire."

"No, probably not."

"Because that would be creepy."

"Yes."

"You've already got the smile down though."

"Do I?" And there it is.

00000

"I have no idea where I want to go. I haven't really thought much about college," I reply, before taking another bite of my dinner.

"It's pretty overwhelming."

"It really is. I don't even know what I want to do yet."

"Me neither. I think Carlisle's hoping I'll take an interest in medicine, but I'm not all that fond of blood."

"Blood makes me nauseous, which is unfortunate considering how often I seem to make myself bleed."

"It doesn't really make me sick - I just don't want to have to deal with it all the time."

"You could be an optometrist or a dentist or something," I say.

"No. Basically I want a job that doesn't involve other people's bodily fluids."

"Yeah, me too."

There's a beat of silence before Edward asks, "Are we having a serious conversation right now?"

"I think we are."

"I'm going to be honest: it's weirding me out a bit."

"It does feel odd, doesn't it?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"Okay, well then... hm."

"What can we talk about?"

"Well we've done necrophilia," I say.

"A few times."

"And cannibalism."

"With cupcakes, no less."

"Chastity belts."

"Definitely one of my favourites."

"Those were mine. I think it's your turn to come up with something new."

"Uh..." He leans forward and looks thoughtful. "I think this works better when it's more… you know, organic."

"Well... have you burned anything lately?" That's some nice dinner conversation right there.

"Just wood. Although the hamburgers last week were a little borderline."

"Still with the hamburgers?"

"I can barely even grate cheese, Bella. There's not a lot you can do with my level of skill."

"They have cooking classes, you know. I'm sure they have a level so basic they'd teach you how to grate cheese. You may even be able to advance to chopping and slicing. Probably not tomatoes though. Those are tricky, but bread. Bread's pretty easy."

"Why is this so awkward?" he asks with a sigh.

"I don't know. Maybe we should start listing things again. I think we were doing pretty well with that."

"You've been weird."

"Have I?"

"You seem kind of… off."

"What, like bad meat?"

"Like maybe you're not really comfortable with this," he says hesitantly.

"I want to be here, if that's what you mean."

"So what's the problem?"

"I wouldn't say there's a problem." I think Date Bella's screwed me over. "It's just… well, we've spent time together, we've talked, you've even bought me food, but those weren't dates. So, if this is a date…"

"It is."

"…shouldn't it be different somehow?"

"I think the fact that we're both here with the understanding that it is a date makes it a date."

"You don't think it needs to be different?"

"I think that automatically makes it different. I think we could recreate the night I bought you pie, preferably without your date with Newton…"

"That was not a date." He gives me an unbelieving look. "That wasn't _supposed_ to be a date," I amend. "I was tricked. It was an ambush."

"Well, we could do exactly the same thing, but if we thought of it as a date then it would be different from whatever the hell is actually was. Does that make sense?"

"I understand what you mean, but I'm wondering… what were you expecting when you asked me out? What kind of change are you looking for?"

"Umm…" His face scrunches, which is weird and adorable. "Basically I want what we had before with the addition of kissing… and whatever else that may lead to. Also, some kind of promise that you won't kiss other people would be great."

"Oh." That sounds so simple. "So basically it's friendship, but with sexual content."

"And prearranged outings that apparently necessitate the wearing of my one button-down shirt, which I hate, and a hell of a lot of unsolicited advice. On the plus side, if I bring you home too late and your father shoots me, I'll be at least slightly dressy for my hole-in-the-dirt funeral."

"It looks nice on you," I say.

"The whole shirt or just the buttons?" he asks with a teasing smile. God, I love that smile. Just like that I feel _fantastic_.

"Okay, the buttons thing was random, but at least I used the name instead of referring to the round things."

"I wasn't sure if they were flowers or not. They're sort of… blurry. Well, maybe not _blurry_, but they don't look like actual flowers."

"I think it's still pretty clear that they're flowers."

"I plead male ignorance of all things petaled. I may have been a bit nervous as well. Plus this is my funeral shirt. The only other time I've worn it was when Carlisle's aunt died, and the collar really bugs me."

"So, you couldn't tell it was a flower because you're a nervous guy in a funeral shirt with an annoying collar?"

He looks at me blankly for a second before he says, "I wasn't supposed to tell you it's my funeral shirt."

"Is that a yes?"

"So where did this 'different' idea come from?" Edward asks, taking a sip of his drink.

"My mom freaked me out by talking about Date Bella, and how you're not supposed to act like you're hanging out with someone when you're on a date."

"Date Bella?"

"I think it's supposed to be some kind of alternate personality reserved for dates."

"I'm not sure I like that idea. You were one of the main reasons I asked you out, you know." We both blush at that.

"What were the other ones?"

"Mostly the increased possibility of sex if I could get you to agree to go out with me."

"You're _so_ romantic," I say with a laugh.

"Don't kid yourself; we both know you're here for the sex too. I know how it is."

Whipping a cloth napkin at someone isn't very effective. They lack mass. Edward picks it up from the middle of the table and hands it back to me.

"That'll teach me."

"Next time I'll pick something heavier," I mutter.

"I look forward to that."

There's a pause. It's kind of a long pause, actually. I should say something. It only seems fair after I apparently freaked him out with my normal conversation. So I spit out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Do you think women really wore poodle skirts in the fifties?"

He seems startled, and more than a little baffled. "Is there reason to think otherwise?" he asks cautiously.

"I guess I just find it hard to imagine them being worn on a regular basis."

"Women used to wear corsets all the time," he says with a shrug.

"Yeah, but I find that more believable somehow, maybe because they're not called something like 'basset hound brassieres.'"

He smiles. "That would be harder to believe."

"Exactly."

00000

"What the hell just happened?" I'm practically shouting as we leave the movie theatre. I know I should probably lower my voice and take deep breaths, but I feel like a giant ball of rage has taken up residence in my chest.

"I really have no idea." Edward's amusement is not helping.

"It started out fine, not great, but fine. The mixed up laundry meeting was sort of cute. I mean, I don't really understand what she was doing with her bra that it ended up with his stuff, but it's still within the realm of possibility. And then the falling in love, and then the falling out, and moving which lead to the long distance _I love you, I miss you_ stuff, and then all of a sudden they're _walking across the ocean_." People are staring at me. I am officially a raving lunatic.

"Well, it _is_ called _The Ocean Walker_. If that's not foreshadowing, I don't know what is."

"But it's not even like they were swimming, which would be ridiculous enough, but _walking_. Even if you could walk across the ocean from LA to Japan, that's a _long_ way."

"You seem to be very upset about this."

"Are they trying to say something? Is there some deep metaphorical message in that, or do they just think we're complete fucking idiots who aren't going to realize how completely fucking ridiculous that is? I think I might be offended. I think I might be deeply offended that they thought I would think that that makes sense."

"I don't know that feeding the anger is the best idea."

"_They're_ the fucking idiots."

"It's just a movie, Bella," he says, pulling me against his chest.

"You're seriously not even a little annoyed about this? You _paid_ to see that."

"It was totally worth the money. You're really cute when you rant," he says, leaning down to kiss me quickly. My rage ball deflates like a pathetic balloon.

"Did Emmett tell you to say that?" I ask accusingly.

"No, I'm improvising."

"You're very dangerous," I mutter, narrowing my eyes at him.

"That sounds promising."

I tap him on the side, before wrapping my arms around his middle. I stand there with my face pressed against his chest for a few moments, before I start to laugh.

"What?" Edward asks.

"They walked across the ocean. That's like the most ridiculous movie ending ever."

"Maybe they were trying to say that true love transcends the laws of nature. Or maybe they're both somehow related to Jesus."

"But then they'd be related to each other."

"That would be awkward. They'd walk all the way to the middle of the ocean and realize they're cousins. Maybe that's in the sequel," he says.

"Doesn't sound like a romantic comedy."

"It would mostly be them going to therapy and talking about how they're related… because of Jesus."

"Well, okay then."

"It probably wouldn't be very funny."

"I can't imagine it being very romantic either. People would probably expect the sequel to be the same genre as the first one."

"People would probably expect the end of the movie to make sense, but they don't seem too concerned with that."

"Fair enough."

"So… pie?" he asks, stepping back and taking my hand to lead me toward Roy's Diner.

"Pie sounds good," I reply, squeezing his hand in mine.


	23. Nun Applications and Magic Relationship

**A/N: **Beta'd by americnxidiot (ff net) and Feisty Y. Beden (FFn and Ravelry).

**Nun Applications and Magic Relationship Powers**

"Next weekend is entirely ruined," Jess moans, plunking her hamburger down on her plate so hard the top slides off. Forks' diner is no Roy's, but it's not bad. I think a lot of Roy's charm is actually Edward's so it isn't really a fair comparison. I guess I'll have to come here with Edward to do a proper analysis. Maybe now I'll have to take Edward everywhere I go to keep my opinions unbiased. That's probably sad ... and at least a little obsessive. Edward would probably take that as a compliment.

"I thought you were going shopping next weekend," Angie says.

Jess sighs. "I was. Mom and I were going to go to Seattle for two days of shopping. _Two days_ of non-stop shopping. It would've been glorious, but it turns out that I've got an art assignment due Monday and a huge essay due Tuesday morning, so now I can't go. School is ruining my life."

"Can't you just go another time?" I ask.

"But I wanted to go this weekend," she whines. She sighs and announces, "I have to pee," before she leaves the table and heads for the bathroom.

As soon as Jess is through the door, Angie leans across the table and asks. "So ... how was the date?"

"I told you guys it went well."

"Yeah, but you said it very diplomatically and then you blushed. People don't blush because things go 'well.'" Air quotes are really obnoxious when they're being used against you.

I roll my eyes and try to hide my smile.

"It was great," I admit.

"Did you get a goodnight kiss?"

"Well we didn't kiss at the end, because my dad came to the door when we pulled up, but we kissed a few times before that."

Angie's looking at me oddly. Do I have something on my face?

"What?" I ask.

"You just can't stop smiling can you?"

I laugh, both from embarrassment and happiness. I feel silly and jittery and sort of like I'm about to explode into a big puff of glitter, which only makes me feel sillier. I wonder if this is what it's like to be Alice.

"My face is starting to hurt," I admit with embarrassment.

"Awww. I'm glad you had a good first date. Are you going out again?"

"We didn't make any plans, but I think so." I have a momentary flash of doubt. I'm making an assumption that we're going out on an indefinite basis, but we never actually talked about a next date. I did act like a pod person and then ranted like a lunatic in public. It wouldn't be beyond the realm of reason to say that Edward might not find that kind of behaviour appealing. But then I think about the way his fingers played with mine as we ate pie and how he threatened to throw up on me if I made another dead sex joke while he was eating. He knew what he was getting into.

"I've gotten the idea that we're not working on a date by date basis, if that makes sense. Like official dates are just sort of a formality."

Angie nods thoughtfully.

"You guys seem sweet together. I'm glad you're going out."

"Me too. He's really adorable."

And then she starts giving me _that_ look again.

A few moments later Jess is back at the table with us, and the subject is dropped.

"So, why didn't you just do that essay this weekend?" I ask.

"Because he hasn't given us the stupid essay topics yet," Jess says.

Angie replies, "Yes, he has."

"Really?"

"Like, two weeks ago."

"Motherfucker," Jess yells. Then the whole diner turns to stare.

00000

After lunch they drop me back at home, and I collapse on my bed. Alice called me at eight this morning. Eight is a horribly ungodly hour on a Saturday, almost worse than the entirety of a Monday. It should always be slept through. Despite my various curse-laden attempts to explain this to her, Alice didn't seem to get it.

"You're not dead, are you?"

My entire body jerks at the sound of Edward's voice.

"What?" I ask, stiffly rolling onto my side.

"You were sprawled facedown across your bed. I was afraid you were dead. That would've been really awkward."

"I'm glad my lack of death has spared you awkwardness," I grumble tiredly.

"Well I would've been ... you know ... sad and stuff too."

"Very considerate of you. Have you broken into my house again?"

"You really need to lock your front door."

"What is it exactly that you have against knocking?"

"Ruins the element of surprise. If I'm going to run into your father at or around his house then I'd like to see him first. It gives me a better chance to hide."

"You're ridiculous."

"_I'm_ ridiculous? At least I know how to lock my front door."

"And you're insufferable."

"And yet you haven't kicked me out," he says, taking a seat on the edge of my bed.

"And smug, but that probably goes under the heading of _insufferable_."

"Well, you're a crazy person."

"Fair enough." I really don't see much ground to argue my sanity, unless I'm willing to use relativity as a defence. "When my mom went through her nature mother goddess phase she had backyard funerals for houseplants when they died." I think I just made it worse. Now he's going to think it's some genetic kind of crazy, assuming the cactus Christmas tree hadn't planted the idea already. I think it's more an issue of nurture over nature, myself. I like to think that for one brief moment in my infancy, I had a chance at being a normal person.

"So anyway ... my family has decided that since I had dinner with your dad, you need to have dinner with them."

"I have."

"Yeah, but we were friends then and now we're dating, which apparently makes you an entirely different person they have to meet," he says, absentmindedly touching the back of my hand. I may be staring at his finger touching my skin, possibly.

"I told you."

"What did you tell me?"

"About that Date Bella thing."

"Don't start doing that again," Edward says with a grimace. "I don't think they expect you to be another person; they just see you differently now that you're my girlfriend. I can't guarantee that Carlisle won't attempt to give you the safe sex talk, though."

"Well, then you can't leave me alone."

"I'm not sure my presence would stop him. He's been threatening to give me an 'update' since he found out we were going on a date. He may see my presence as a chance to get two birds with one stone. He's a big fan of that expression."

I sit up with a sigh, and he leans forward to kiss me.

"I guess I could probably do that." The anxiety I now feel about his family is ridiculous. I like Carlisle, and Esme, and Alice, when she isn't depriving me of sleep, but everything feels _different_ now. And it's so fucking annoying, but seemingly unavoidable, because so much _is_ different. I'm not just Edward's friend anymore, I'm Edward's ...

"Wait, did you call me your girlfriend? You called me your girlfriend." Suddenly it's like my heart's swelled up to fill my entire chest in a good, but somewhat panic- inducing way.

"Uhh ..."

"I don't remember agreeing to that."

"You agreed to date me," he counters quickly.

"I'm pretty sure those are two different conversations." Then I kiss him, because I think he might be freaking out a bit, and also because he called me his fucking _girlfriend_.

"Oh really?" He recovers, and goes back to cocky.

"Yes, and we've only had one."

"So, do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"I'm not sure. You're awful presumptuous."

"Well I feel I was led on," he teases.

"Oh, really?"

"Yep. You're clearly a tease."

"How horrible. Then in an effort to reform my ways, I suppose I should probably warn you that, should I accept your offer of girlfriend-ship, we may have to put off sex indefinitely." He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off with a hand gesture. "I'm considering a future career as a nun, and I'm pretty sure not being a virgin would hurt my chances in the application process."

He just stares at me for a moment, before saying, "I have no idea what to say to you right now."

"You're not being very supportive of my dreams, Edward."

He does his best to push back a smile and asks, "And why are you considering this particular career?"

"I think it would be a good choice for me. I understand there's frolicking and singing. And then there's the sound of music and the hills that are freaking alive with it. Plus, I think the outfits are cute."

"I think there may be a fair amount of praying involved as well."

"Possibly. I haven't done a lot of research yet. I'm mostly interested in the frolicking in the Alps part."

"So you want to be a Swiss nun?"

"Ideally. I do love chocolate. Or Austrian, but without the Nazis ... obviously."

"Obviously."

"But that shouldn't be a problem, since it's no longer World War Two."

"You not being Julie Andrews may play a factor as well," he says.

"Are you blaming Julie Andrews for Nazis?"

Again he stares at me.

"And you really think they care about pre-convent virginity?" he eventually asks.

"I'm pretty sure there's like a check box on the application or something."

"So they don't take non-virgin nuns?"

"They probably don't get to go to the good convents. They can't be trusted to go off frolicking in the mountains alone. They've already given into temptation at least once. They probably get sent to the convents with sick people or the ones that run Catholic schools or orphanages. I don't want to be that kind of nun."

"You want to be the frolicking kind," he states.

"Which I'm pretty sure means I have to be a virgin."

"You could just lie. People lie on job applications all the time."

"But you're, like, applying to _God_. I'm pretty sure you can't lie to God, but again, I haven't done much research yet."

"You may want to look into that."

"I'll get around to it."

Edward shakes his head and sighs. He's clearly overwhelmed by the awesomeness of my future plans.

"I'm not sure you're thinking about this virginity issue the right way," he says.

"Oh?"

"I think going into a nunnery as a virgin would make you more vulnerable to temptation later on. I think the best way to ensure nunhood celibacy would be to proactively have so much sex that you never want to have sex again."

"Really?" I ask, trying so very hard not to laugh. I should have figured he'd be able to turn that around on me.

"Yeah. You have a lifetime worth of sex and then you get bored with it, and you never have to worry about temptation again."

"So, you're postulating some kind of sexual quota that, once met, just voids your sexuality."

"I guess I am."

"That's a very interesting way of looking at it."

"Well, I thought so."

"And I suppose you'd be willing to help me with this."

"Never say I wasn't supportive of your dreams."

"You're not worried about meeting your quota in the process of getting rid of mine?"

"I'm pretty sure teenage males are quota-less."

I can't help laughing.

"You're pretty smooth for an antisocial delinquent," I say with a playful scowl.

"I prefer to think of myself as selectively social."

"I suppose I should be flattered then."

"You should. I don't deign to speak to just anybody, you know." Then he kisses me.

"Well, lucky me." And I actually mean it. Lucky, lucky me.

"Keeping in mind just how lucky you are ..." Edward grabs me and semi-wrestles me down onto the bed, holding me still underneath his chest. "Bella? Do you want to be my girlfriend?"

"Oh, did you want an actual answer?" I have the attention span of a goldfish.

"That would be nice."

"Well, then yes," I blurt out before I start over thinking again.

"_Yes_, just like that?" he asks incredulously.

"You were expecting a _no_?"

"To be honest, I was expecting something along the lines of a soliloquy on water poisoning."

"It's been done."

"True."

"And we're not even in a bathroom this time."

"What does a bathroom have to do with anything?" he asks.

"There's a lot of water in a bathroom ... for the water poisoning."

"I thought the rain was the issue. Bathrooms everywhere have water in them."

"But I _thought_ of water poisoning because we were in a bathroom with all that water. I wouldn't think of that in my bedroom. There isn't any water here."

"If you're trying to say you wouldn't have thought of water poisoning because it wouldn't be rational, then I call bullshit. Rationality has nothing to do with the places your mind goes."

"There's method to my madness."

"Once again, bullshit."

"It's _not_ bullshit. There is."

"Water poisoning?"

"There's a lot of water, especially in the bathroom we were in," I repeat defensively.

"Necrophilia?"

"That was your fault. I can't believe you're still trying to blame me for that."

"Cannibal cupcakes?"

"That was a dream. I cannot be held responsible for the contents of my dreams."

"So your crazy is rational, because if it isn't rational then you're not responsible for it? I'm not sure how legitimate that is as an argument."

"As your girlfriend, I think you should shut up." Before he can respond I steal one of his moves and kiss him silent, holding him close by the sides of his face. Turns out it works on him, too. My success makes me feel giddy, and powerful, and a little bit sexy. I have magical girlfriend powers.

I'm pretty sure this counts as using my abilities for good. Edward seems to agree, if his enthusiasm is any indication.

It occurs to me that at this very moment, Edward is _on top of me_. Given my usually neurotic state when it comes to sex things, and if I'm being honest, things in general, I would expect this realization to be ... well, neurosis inducing, but somehow it's not. He's kind of heavy and I would prefer to be able to move my leg, but it's _nice_, really nice. Granted, this may be the girlfriend-magic power trip talking, but this is decidedly un-terrifying and kind of hot, both literally and metaphorically. Edward's a furnace, a slightly stubbly, boy-smelling furnace.

If I could design Edward-like furnaces I would make a fortune. Or better yet, an Edward-shaped personal heater that you could snuggle up to in bed. Of course, hospital waiting rooms would be inundated with women suffering burns from prolonged exposure. And I'm not sure how I would feel about people potentially dry humping my boyfriend's likeness. Plus, I would probably have to give Edward a cut so that he wouldn't sue me for stealing his face.

I think power might be something you can actually get drunk off of. In which case, I'm wasted. I hate to think what actual sex is going to do to my mental state.

Edward's hand on my waist pulls me out of my spiralling thoughts. My shirt's ridden up so he's _really_ touching me, as in his hand on my skin, which is also very nice.

My hand moves down to his side, hoping to find some of his skin, all in the name of fairness of course. I might have been more successful if my face wasn't attached to his. Instead of my hand landing on his waist and worming its way under his shirt, it lands on something that feels a lot like denim, like his ass. _My hand is on Edward's ass._ Huh.

I reflexively move my hand to his back, but Edward's already pulled away to look at me.

"Did you just grab my ass?" Smug bastard.

"I think I did." Maybe if I act all blasé about it he won't notice that I look like a tomato.

"So how was it?"

I shrug. "It's not something I have experience with, but it wasn't unpleasant."

"Does this mean I get to grab your ass now?" There's just the tiniest little bit of tongue sticking out. I want to touch his tongue.

"That seems fair," I mutter absently, transfixed by his tongue. Slowly, very slowly I raise my finger to poke his tongue, but just before I make contact, he speaks.

"What are you doing?"

I make a noise of annoyance at the missed opportunity.

"I was _trying_ to touch your tongue."

"Why?"

"I don't really know."

"If you want to touch my tongue you can touch my tongue." Then he sticks out his entire tongue.

"Well, now it's just weird."

"You tried to poke my tongue. It was weird before," Edward says.

"You think everything is weird. You have an oversensitive weird-meter."

"I think you have an under-sensitive weird-meter."

"Ridiculous. I have a perfectly tuned weird-meter."

"If you did it's been desensitized by years of contact with you."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" I ask.

"You called me a dictionary. That's not normal."

"I said you _weren't_ a dictionary."

"That's still weird."

"_You're_ weird. And if you're going to be my boyfriend, I think you should pay more attention to what I say."

"From now on, I'll do my best to memorize every word you say."

"Well, good."

For a moment he just smiles down at me, then he says, "You realize you gave me permission to grab your ass, right?"

"Did I?"

"Yeah."

"Oh. How did you manage that?"

"Apparently you really like my tongue. You might say I have magic tongue powers."

Damn his tongue. I've been out magicked again.

I combat his new magic the only way I can think to – I kiss him again. The basics will have to do until I can develop further girlfriend powers.

00000

"It's not a big deal," I say, passing a newly clean, wet dish to Dad.

"I'm just not sure it's a good idea."

"We're having dinner with his parents. It's not a sleepover. It's not a date. It's food with Esme and Carlisle and the four other people he lives with. I'll probably end up getting kidnapped by Alice for half the night."

"I'm not comfortable with the idea of you being that close to his bedroom."

"We probably won't even go in his bedroom."

He gives me the parental glare.

"We _won't_ go in his bedroom. I don't even like bedrooms. Highly overrated rooms. I don't get the fuss."

"Uh huh."

"I sense a touch of doubt in there."

"I liked it so much better when you were little, and all I had to worry about was always having disinfectant on hand and making sure you didn't take any of the other kids' toys," he says wistfully.

"I didn't steal toys."

"For a while you did. You were a clumsy little klepto, and you thought boys were gross. Sadly it was just a phase. Are you sure this whole liking boys business isn't just a phase?"

"I'm pretty sure I'm not a lesbian."

"I hear asexuality's really in right now."

"Tempting as that is I think I'm going to stick with boys for now."

"Well, if that's what you really want," he grudgingly says.

I laugh as I hand him the last of the dishes.

I'm about to tease him a little when I hear the rumble of a big old engine out front. It sounds like Steve.

I bet I look like one of those gophers or ferrets or whatever they are that whip their heads around and then freeze, staring off at some distant noise. Dad laughs at me.

I ignore him and head for the front door, trying not to rush, because I don't _know_ that it's Steve. He may be the loudest car in town, but he's not the only old, rumbly one.

It is Steve, though. Steve is alive. I may jump a little bit, just a little bit.

I don't even notice Jake until he's standing right in front of me, smiling indulgently at me as I pet Steve's hood.

"He's _alive_," I whisper excitedly, like the massive dork that I am.

"He's not Frankenstein, Bella. Well, actually he sort of is. Large, lacking original parts, and a little worse for wear."

"Steve doesn't have to be pretty - he has character."

"Steve?"

"So I haven't seen you in a while. What's going on with you?"

"I fixed your truck, which apparently has a name."

"Thank you, and I don't know what you're talking about."

"Are you seriously going to try to pretend that you didn't just call it Steve?"

"I thought you were mad at me. You seemed really mad at me last time." If I don't make eye contact, he can't force it out of me. He can't prove it happened.

He's quiet for a moment, and then he seems to relent.

"I was, but since it doesn't seem like you're going to come to your senses anytime soon ..."

"My senses are just fine, thank you," I interrupt indignantly.

"But since it doesn't seem like you're going to come to your senses anytime soon," he repeats forcefully, "I've decided to let it go. I want us to be friends, and clearly that doesn't work very well if we're not on speaking terms."

"I would also like to be friends."

"Good, okay. So, I'm sorry I was a jerk, and I fixed your truck. It's a sign of goodwill or something," he says, patting the side of the cab. "Do you forgive me?"

"Yes. Thank you, Jake."

He nods. "And we should probably just avoid the entire topic of the guy you're dating."

"Heard about that, huh?"

"Your dad told my dad, and ... yeah, I heard."

Now it's my turn to nod.

"So, he's running good ... well, he's running well?" I ask.

"If by 'he' you mean Steve ..." I hit him on the arm, and he chuckles. "He's running. _Good_ might be a stretch, but he's pretty much as he was, character and all."

"I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to mock the person you're apologizing to."

"You already accepted my apology. It's too late now."

I scowl at him as Billy's truck pulls up behind him. Dad comes to the door and invites them in.

"Am I still forgiven?" Jake leans forward to ask as we head into the house.

"For now, but you better watch your step, buddy," I say as threateningly as I can. I'm not sure how intimidating I actually am. He's still smiling, so I'd say not very.

I shove him extra hard for good measure, but he just playfully pushes me back.

00000

Monday mornings are a lot better when you have multiple trays of rice krispy squares in your kitchen. It still can't compete with Saturday or Sunday, but it is a vast improvement. The fact that they're double marshmallow rice krispy squares doesn't hurt, although it was an accident.

I'm packaging squares when Edward knocks on the kitchen doorjamb.

"So you _do_ know how to knock," I say as he comes over to kiss me.

"Once again, my lack of knocking is a safety precaution. Are you almost ready to go?" he asks all casually, like I didn't call him yesterday and tell him I don't need a ride anymore.

"I have my truck back."

"I know, but poor Steve is getting on in years. He needs his rest."

"He's perfectly capable of getting me to school."

"The last time you tried to drive him to school, he broke down. It was clearly a cry for help."

"And I suppose you want to help him by driving me."

"I think he would appreciate the break."

After a few moments of consideration I say, "I'll let you drive me three days a week, _but_ the other two days we take Steve."

"You want me to drive Steve?"

"Don't be ridiculous. _I_ would drive Steve, and you would sit next to me."

"Seriously?"

"Yes."

"What's with the rice krispies?"

I roll my eyes but let it go.

"They're presents. Sorry-I-didn't-want-to-date-you for the boys, sorry-I'm-dating-Edward for Jessica, and Angela's don't say anything, because she's fine with us."

"Those are some verbose rice krispy treats."

"Well, they're double marshmallow."

"Makes them chatty, does it?" he asks, accepting a square.

"Well, you know marshmallows..."

He squints as he chews, and then mumbles out of the side of his mouth, "That's a lot of marshmallow."

"Is it too much?"

He swallows with some difficulty and studies the remaining square.

"It's kind of like glue, but awesome."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I just hope none of them have loose fillings."

"I'm sure it'll be fine. I think Eric's dad is a dentist."

"Well, I'm sure he'll appreciate the business then."

"Maybe I shouldn't give you your package. I wouldn't want to endanger your teeth," I say.

"So what do mine say?"

"_Hello, Edward_?"

"I don't get a message?"

"You get rice krispy squares. Is that not enough?"

"You have a point," he says, grabbing the bag out of my hand.

"I have some for your family here, too."

"Yeah, you shouldn't give me those. They'd never see them," he says.

"I'll give them to Alice."

"Good choice."

I put all the packages into the evil tote bag, and we start to head out.

When we get to his car, Edward opens the passenger side door for me, and as I look over at Steve, lonely and left behind, I get an idea.

"I just realized your marshmallows do have a message."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, they say _Steve deserves to be driven too, and if you don't agree you're going to be driving to school alone on a regular basis_." I frown faintly at how clunky that sounds to my ears.

"That's awfully wordy."

"Well, they're marshmallows; pithy isn't really their thing."

He sighs, and his head slumps forward.

"Fine, but I hope your marshmallows know that if I die or am seriously deformed in a horrible car crash at twenty miles an hour I'm holding them responsible."

"The marshmallows understand, but Steve thinks you're an ass for the twenty-miles-an-hour crack."

"I can live with that."

I smile. Maybe I have magic word powers. That's tongue-ish.

Edward smiles back, and places his hands on my waist, leaning down to kiss me. His hands shift and suddenly he's grabbing my ass, pulling me against him. I squeak like a mouse.

"You did say I could," he mutters against my mouth, before he resumes the kissing.

Outmanoeuvred again. Somehow I don't really mind.


	24. Superheroes and Siamese Twins

**Chapter 24 – Superheroes and Siamese Twins**

"_So_, I was thinking we could take Steve to school tomorrow." I attempt to sound casual, but it's hard to be all this-is-a-totally-normal-conversation when I'm actually trying to trap my reluctant but cute boyfriend into letting me drive him to school. I've got to lock this deal down, before he finds some way to weasel out of it or distracts me until I forget.

Edward doesn't say anything.

"And Thursday. Tuesdays and Thursdays can be Steve's days."

Still nothing.

"_Edward_."

"Hmm?"

"Tomorrow."

"Uh ... well ... no, I can't ... tomorrow doesn't work for me."

"Why?"

"Because I need my car. I have to take my car to the shop after school, so I need to bring it to school," he says.

"So you can't drop me off after school?"

"No, I can. I just have to go from your house to the shop."

"Well I was thinking on Steve's days you could drive to my house and then we could take Steve to school, since my house is between your house and the school."

I must admit I'm taking a certain amount of perverse pleasure out of watching Edward squirm.

"I don't ... I think I'm supposed to drive it as much as I can before I take it in, so ..."

"This is worse than your I-punched-Mike-because-he-put-an-invisible-dent-in-my-car lie. I won't have you punch Steve in the face ... metaphorically speaking."

"Are you accusing me of metaphorically punching your truck in the face? What does that even mean?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's not a metaphor. Maybe it's a simile."

"I don't think it's anything. It doesn't make sense."

"My point _is,_ you already agreed and you can't just make things up to get out of it. Do you really want to go back on your word?"

"I feel like I was coerced by marshmallows," Edward says.

"Don't blame the marshmallows."

"They manipulated me with their wordy marshmallow-ness."

"Are you seriously trying to renege on our deal?"

"I'm just not really sure it counts."

"You said it."

"But I didn't really mean it."

"Are you saying that your words are worthless?"

There's a long pause during which Edward looks like he's trying to do calculus in his head. I have him cornered or maybe caught, like in a lasso, but a lasso of words. I'm like Wonder Woman. I even have some deflection abilities.

I am Word Woman.

"No?" he finally says.

"So you stand by what you said?"

His fingers flex on the steering wheel.

"Are you embarrassed by Steve? You don't want to be seen with him?" I ask.

"I just like to drive."

"Well so do I. Maybe we should just drive separately."

"I didn't say that," Edward replies quickly.

"No, I said that. You said that _marshmallows__tricked__you_."

He sighs, his head thumping back against the headrest.

"_Fine_. On Tuesdays you can drive us to school."

"And on Thursdays."

"Yes, Thursdays too."

Word Woman is all powerful, and possibly a little power drunk.

By the time we get to school I've come to the conclusion that Word Woman is possibly not as awesome sounding as I first thought. Further consideration is required. I definitely need a superhero name though.

"What do you think of Word Woman?" I ask as Edward comes around the car towards me.

"I have no context."

"You don't need context."

"I think I do. I find understanding something is usually helpful when developing opinions," Edward says, lightly tugging on the strap of the cursed tote bag.

"You don't need to know. You'll think I'm being silly."

"Because you generally act so dignified." I smack him on the arm.

"What do you think when you hear _Word__Woman_?"

"Wonder Woman has a geeky sister."

"Well, that's no good."

"It might be good. Does she wear the same uniform as Wonder Woman? Because if she wears the same uniform, I'm in favour of it ... her ... this strange thing we're talking about. What exactly are we talking about?"

"Do you think I could pull off a bustier?"

Edward sighs, clearly giving up his silly attempt to bring sanity into the conversation.

"I don't know what that is," he says.

"It's the thing Wonder Woman wears, the top bit." I may have imitated the neckline of it by making canopies over my boobs with my hands. Now Edward's staring at my boobs.

"Oh. Well, I would be willing to help you experiment with ... that thing we're talking about. You may need to try the entire outfit to make sure."

"I'm not dressing up like Wonder Woman, Edward."

"Fine, but when you move to Sweden to become a nun I want a picture of you in the outfit."

"Switzerland. I want to go to Switzerland."

"Right."

"And you know jerking off to a picture of a nun is probably a sure-fire way to end up in hell." I just said _jerking__off_ out loud. I can't believe I just said _jerking__off_ out loud. Unable to look at him directly, I attempt to side-eye him. He's totally laughing at me.

"Oh, what do you know? You've never even read the bible."

"I'll get to it," I reply defensively. "I know the gist."

Edward rolls his eyes at me. I poke him in the stomach.

"Jerk," I mutter.

Over his shoulder I see Jess making her way towards the school.

"There's Jess. I'll see you later?"

"Sure," he says, leaning forward to kiss me briefly.

As I walk past him I'm seized by the sudden urge for vengeance, and I smack Edward Cullen's ass. Then I flee, as much as I can flee in an icy parking lot.

"I feel objectified!" he calls after me. I giggle like a maniac, partly because I think it was funny and partly because _I__just__smacked__Edwards__'__s__ass_. Oh my God.

Jess is inside the school by the time I catch up to her. Grabbing onto her arm, I huff out a hello.

"Were you running? Should you be running? That doesn't seem like a good thing for you to do."

"I can run," I reply defensively.

"I'm in gym with you, Bella. I've seen what happens when you run."

"Well, I managed just fine today."

"Good for you," she replies with a smirk.

"You should be nice to me. I've brought treats."

"What kind of treats?"

"The marshmallow kind," I say, pulling a package out of the tote.

"Ooh, thank you. Do you think rice krispy squares are bad for you? I know they're not good for you, but do you think they're _really_ bad? I mean there's rice in there too, right?"

"If you're eating rice krispy squares for their nutritional value I think you're missing the point."

"Well, that's comforting. There's a dance coming up, you know. I like marshmallows, but I don't want to look like one."

"You don't look like a marshmallow."

"I appreciate that, but you're not exactly my target audience," Jess says.

"Which is what? People who don't like marshmallows?"

Jess gives me a blank look before saying, "Boys, Bella. _Boys_ are my target."

"Oh, _those_."

"Yeah, _those_. I need a date, and I want a good one."

"A good what?" Angie asks as she comes up beside us.

"Jess is targeting boys," I say. She frowns at me.

"She's _targeting_ them?"

"For the dance. I'm trying to be a bit more conscious of the way others perceive me, and my target audience is boys."

"She doesn't want to be a marshmallow."

"Like a metaphorical marshmallow?" she asks.

"What's metaphorical about marshmallows?" Jess asks.

"Well, I assume you're not opposed to literally becoming a marshmallow. People are not marshmallows."

"I know people aren't marshmallows, Angela," she snaps.

"I think we all need to stop saying _marshmallow_," I say.

"I don't want to be fluffy or squishy or anything marshmallow-like for the dance."

"We really need to stop saying that word," I reiterate.

"There are only three weeks to the dance, and I need someone to ask me, like, yesterday. Actually someone did ask me yesterday, but that was Eric," Jess says.

"Eric asked you? What did you say?" Angie asks.

"I said _no_, or more specifically I said _you__'__re__fucking__kidding__me,__right?_" Jess turns to me, placing her hand on my arm and says, "No offense, but I will not accept your rejects. If I'm going to go to a dance with a guy I want to be the first one he asked. At the very least I want to be able to _believe_ I'm the first, which is impossible after the asses they publically made of themselves. I don't think that's unreasonable."

"Well, now he's been rejected twice. That's got to be hard. I hope you were nice about it at least."

"Yeah, _you__'__re__fucking__kidding__me_ sounds really understanding," I say.

"Maybe I was a bit harsh, but he's a _guy_. He'll be fine, and he was totally default-asking me. Besides, Bella brought goodies. I'm sure that'll make him feel better."

"What did you bring?"

"Rice krispy squares. Hence the marshmallow conversation."

"Oh, I love those. They always remind me of kindergarten."

"Funny you should say that. They're double marshmallow, and I've been told it's like eating glue, but in a good way."

"I don't think I ever ate glue," Angie says.

"I definitely did."

"I used to put glitter on my food. I guess I thought they were like sprinkles... but shiny," Jess says. "I once sneezed glitter. I was so convinced I'd turned into a fairy."

"I remember that. You made me call you Buttercup for a week."

"_Princess_ Buttercup, thank you very much. I tried to talk to birds. I almost got attacked by sparrows or something."

"You really thought you were a fairy?" I ask.

"It was kindergarten; anything was possible. I even had a boyfriend," Jess says with a wistful sigh. Angie rolls her eyes.

"You've had boyfriends, boyfriends that weren't seven, and I'm sure there will be more," Angie says as we stop in front of Jess's locker.

"That's all well and good, but I need one _now_."

"It's only a dance, Jess." Maybe I'm missing the point, since I pretty much just ignored all the dances at my old school, but it's only a few hours of one night. Do you really need a boyfriend so you have someone to hang out with for one night?

"Oh, what do you know? You've already got a date."

"What?" I ask, but Jess continues talking.

"Maybe I should just decide who I want to take me and then force them to or something."

"_Force_ them?" Angie repeats.

"I mean, like, trick them. Obviously I'm not going to threaten them or anything."

"Wait, _what_?" I ask again.

00000

"Spiderman can climb buildings; he can swing through the city on web strings that shoot from his hands-"

"Actually, it comes from his wrists and-"

"Shut up, Eric. He can trap his enemies in spiderwebs, and he has _preternatural__senses_. Batman doesn't even have abilities; he's just a dude with a utility belt and a pimped-out car," Tyler rants, with his voice full of scorn and his finger manically jabbing towards Mike. Without a doubt the most surprising thing about this escalating debate is that Tyler just used the word preternatural, and he used it correctly. He once told me he thought thespians were lesbian actors.

"Yeah, he got bitten by a spider that's _super_ badass. My mom gets bitten by spiders all the time, you know why? Because she _gardens_. Batman is a _billionaire_. He is a filthy rich badass, with a man servant and an underground lair. Peter Parker lives with his grandmother."

"It's his aunt, and he was a teenager at the time," Eric mutters, mostly to himself. Angie sympathetically pats him on the arm.

"Batman lives with a teenage boy, and they wear spandex together; read between the lines."

"Batman dates supermodels and Kim Basinger, who was super hot in the eighties. Besides they don't wear spandex. It's some sort of moulded hard stuff that's probably got Kevlar in it. Spiderman's the one with the clingy getup that he sewed himself. I bet he makes a mean bundt cake too."

Tyler makes an inarticulate noise of rage and bangs his hand down on the table.

"You ... Batman isn't even a superhero. He doesn't even have powers. He's just a dude that hangs out with a teenage boy and an old man. How can you even _think_ he's better Spiderman? That's just ... it's fucking ridiculous," Tyler sputters vehemently.

"I hate my life," Jess mumbles beside me.

I'm contemplating screaming in frustration or maybe punching Tyler and/or Mike in the face when I look up to find Edward staring at me from across the cafeteria. I should've sat with Edward. Edward is always the right decision. But no, I was all _I__see__Edward__every__day__before__and__after__school;__I__should__at__least__spend__lunch__with__my__friends._Plus Rosalie scares me.

Logically it felt like the right decision, but logic and I so rarely see eye to eye. I hate logic. Logic is a bitch.

Clearly I like Edward too much to have any patience for non-Edward people. He's ruined me for people. He's _so_ cute. How can anybody be so cute?

"That's so gross," Jess says, bringing me back to reality.

"What?"

"You, being all moony and weird. It's totally gross. I'm sickeningly jealous. I can't even get a fucking date."

"You've given up on your plan already? It's been less than a day."

"No, operation _you__'__ll__take__me__because__I__say__you__will_ is still in full swing. I'm narrowing down the candidates at the moment. I just wish I didn't have to work so hard. It takes all the fun out of it, except the dress shopping. Nothing can ruin that."

"That's something to look forward to. Besides, I'm sure whoever you manipulate or coerce into taking you will ultimately be glad you did," I say.

"That's sweet."

"I think Stockholm syndrome is really going to work in your favour."

"If this spork wasn't plastic I'd stab you with it," Jess says, waving the utensil in front of me.

I try really hard not to laugh.

"I'm not..." I start.

"Ironman is just as bad as Batman!" Tyler's enraged shout breaks through our conversation, drawing the entire table's attention back to them. "They're just guys with gadgets. Anyone could be them."

"The Hulk is a giant frog on steroids!" Mike responds.

"Idiots," Jess says, before turning back to me. "But I guess I can forgive you. I've decided you've done me a favour. The news that you were dating Edward certainly wasn't the best thing I've ever heard, but sometimes the harsh truth can be good for you. Clearly he wasn't blind, gay, or secretly pining away for me; he just wasn't interested in me, which I can live with ... I guess. So now I can focus on finding someone who is interested, or at least someone easier to influence."

"So what you're saying is, the fate of whoever you pick is on me."

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. It's all your fault. You've unleashed me onto the world."

"You're welcome?" I answer uncertainly.

"Bruce Banner does not have shrunken testicles!" Tyler shouts at a volume level that should never be used for the word testicles.

"He hulks out and all his clothes rip off, but _the__crotch__of__his__pants__is__perfectly__fine_. Why? Because his junk is shrunk."

"His crotch isn't affected, because if they showed his junk they would have to put an NC-17 rating on it. If the Hulk was a porn they'd never be able to find a male lead, because his junk would be a physical impossibility. That's how hung he is."

"Okay!" Angie says, her voice tinged with panic. "Well ... okay. Let's ... hey, Bella don't you have something to give people ... _right__now?_"

"I brought rice krispy squares," I say, pulling the bag up from the floor.

"Really? Sweet," Mike says.

"I don't like rice krispy squares," Eric says.

"Who doesn't like rice krispy squares?" Tyler asks incredulously.

"I use to have nightmares about Snap, Crackle, and Pop, because it was like I was eating them. My mother hasn't brought rice krispys into the house since."

"The cereal doesn't even look like them," Mike says.

"They're named after the sounds the cereal makes. They _are_ the cereal."

"You are so weird."

"I was a kid," Eric says defensively.

"You were scared of Barney and cereal. That's weird, even for a kid."

"My parents read me fairytales, okay. Not the Disney ones, the real ones. That shit is messed up. I've never seen the end of Cinderella because I was convinced someone's foot was going to get cut off and I'd start to freak out halfway through. Don't even get me started on Snow White."

"You guys really need to stop talking. You're all idiots," Jess says.

"You're an idiot," Tyler replies.

"Seriously, if I have to hear you guys bitch at each other for another second I will take you all out." Jess plants her hands on the table and glares. I'm a little intimidated, and she's not even looking at me.

"We're just having a conversation; don't get your panties in a bunch," Mike says.

"You're not _just__having__a__conversation_. You're having a stupid argument nobody else wants to hear. And don't even pretend you know shit about women's underwear."

Lunch table conversation pretty much went downhill from there.

00000

"I'm thinking about asking Eric to the dance," Angie says as we walk down the hall towards class.

"Really?"

"He's having a bad time. I mean, he's been rejected twice in less than a week and the guys tend to be kind of dismissive of him. I know he's a bit weird, but he's a sensitive guy."

"Hence the fear of cereal."

"Bella," she sighs using something of a chiding mom tone. "I just think it might make him feel better."

"Are you sure the answer to rejection is a pity date?"

"It's not pity. It's sympathy."

I give her a look.

"Okay, there's a little pity, but he doesn't need to know that, and it's _mostly_ sympathy."

"Shouldn't you maybe go with someone you actually want to go with, though?"

"Well it's not like I _don__'__t_ want to go with him, and there isn't anyone I specifically want to go with. Besides, I don't really think dances are that important, well, prom, but this is nothing next to prom. Bottom line is I'm not averse to going with Eric - he can be very sweet, and I think it would be nice."

"If that's what you want to do," I reply with a shrug.

"Have you and Edward discussed whether you're going to come with us or with his family? We usually go out for dinner and hang out after the party."

"Edward and I?"

"His siblings always go to the dances. He might want to go with them and he might not want to go with us. It would be nice if you guys could hang out with us for a while though. Maybe you could alternate or something."

"Why does everybody assume we're going to the dance together?"

"Well, you are together."

"We've been on _one_ date and all of a sudden everyone is assuming we're going to be together in February. How is that not weird?"

"You think everything's weird."

00000

On my way from my locker to the parking lot Alice somehow tracks me down and gloms onto my arm.

"Did you really get him to agree to come to school in that pile of yours? You're magic." The wonder in her voice might be funny if I wasn't so insulted on Steve's behalf.

"My truck is not a _pile_," I reply indignantly.

"I've seen cars in junkyards in better condition than your truck."

"We may not be able to be friends." I'm actually kind of serious, but she just gives me this indulgent look and ignores me.

"I can't even get him in my car unless he drives, which completely defeats the point. How'd you do it?"

"I threatened to make him ride alone every day."

"Is that a euphemism for something? Because I don't want to know about your sex stuff."

"We don't have sex stuff," I say, feeling heat spread up my face.

"_No_ sex stuff? Not even mild gropage?"

"I thought you didn't want to know."

"I changed my mind. Tell me everything. Well not everything, because _ew_. No details, but general everything."

"I'm not sure this is a conversation I want to have at school."

"I thought there wasn't anything to say," Alice says with a sly look.

"How about we talk about it when I come over for dinner?"

"When are you coming over?"

"I don't know. We haven't made any plans yet."

"You should come over on Wednesday. Esme is cooking, so it'll definitely be edible."

"Wednesday should be fine."

"Great! Maybe she'll make something for dessert. Meeting Edward's new girlfriend must be a special occasion, right?"

"You've all already met me. I slept at your house."

"You should sleep over after dinner."

"There's no way my dad is going to let me sleep over now that I'm dating Edward," I say with a laugh.

"Seriously? _Never_?"

"Not as long as Edward's in the house."

"But what about the dance?"

"What about it?" I ask.

"I was thinking we could all go to the dance together, like a big group date, and then you could sleep over and we could hang out the next day."

"Why do you just assume we're going to the dance?"

"Of course you are. So, do you think your dad would let you stay over if we made it clear you were staying with me?"

"There's no way my dad would be okay with that."

"Damn it. Edward ruins everything."

Edward is waiting by his car as we cross the parking lot.

As soon as Alice sees him she scowls and yells, "You ruin everything!" before turning and storming away.

"Nice to see you too, Alice!" he yells back, pulling me towards him.

"How exactly did I manage to piss her off when I wasn't around?"

"I told her I wouldn't be able to sleep over because my dad doesn't want me in the house with you overnight."

"Is it weird that I take that as a compliment?" he asks.

"How is that a compliment?"

"He clearly thinks I'm going to get laid the first chance I get. How is that not a compliment?"

"You're an idiot," I scowl, hitting him on the arm and walking away to the other side of the car. "That's gross."

"Why?"

"It just is. That's my dad. And you wish it was that easy."

"Well, I can't argue with that," he says as he gets in the car.

We're out of the rush of afterschool traffic in the parking lot by the time I work up the nerve to ask about the dance.

"Do you want to go to this Valentine's dance?"

"Are you asking me?" He gives me a side look, before returning his attention to the road.

"I'm not asking you if you want to go with me; I'm asking if you're interested in going." My face is already getting hot. I should have just left this alone.

"With someone else?"

"Why would I want you to go with someone else?"

"Because apparently you're not going with me."

Stare at him, trying to think of a way to salvage this conversation. Best to reboot.

"How do you feel about school dances?" I ask.

"Apathetic. Is that the wrong answer? I'll go if you want to go."

"I'm not really into school dances. I hate doing things in front of people, especially dancing. I only do it when I'm alone. I dance like an idiot."

"I would like to see that," he says.

"Never going to happen."

"I bet it will."

"Never. _Never_."

"It's my life goal now. I will see Bella Swan dance, even if it kills me."

"I _will_ kill you," I reply vehemently.

"Your father will be so proud."

I hit him on the arm.

"He's the chief of police. He doesn't endorse murder in others."

"That's hypocritical."

"I think he's fine with that."

There's a pause.

"You were totally assuming we'll still be together in three weeks," Edward says all smug and presumptuous.

"I was not," I answer defensively.

"You definitely were."

"I was merely trying to determine your stance on school dances."

"Because you assumed we'll still be dating and will therefore have to figure out if we're going or not."

"Maybe I'm planning to breakup with you and go with someone else, and I wanted to know if you were going to be there making things all awkward."

"Or maybe you were planning to go with Mike and you wanted to know if I'd be there to drive you home after he leaves you in the parking lot in the middle of the night."

"Shut up. Everybody just _assumes_ we're going to the dance together. Don't you think that's weird?"

"You're sort of freaking out," he says.

"I am not!"

"Are you really having some sort of commitment issue over a high school dance?" Edward asks incredulously.

"If anything, I'm having an identity crisis. It's like we're a thing now, a unit. We're two-for-one. Either one of us is free or we've both been devalued by half. Just think about that, Edward. You're like half a person now. We're some kind of mutated single entity."

"I'm not sure your two-for-one metaphor can be extended that far. We still have our own _value_, whatever the fuck that means. We are physically still two people, a fact I feel I shouldn't have to remind you of."

"Don't fool yourself, Edward. We're like Siamese twins now ... without the creepy."

"And the flesh to flesh connection," he mutters.

"Pervert."

There's another pause before Edward asks, "Do you think we'll still be together on Valentine's Day?"

It's sort of hard to switch from my usual crazy panic to a serious conversation, but once I do it's actually pretty simple. I'm certainly not going to break up with him.

"You better buy me chocolates."

"I can do that."


End file.
